


Creatures of War

by Oh_Snapcrackle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Battle Couple, Bondage, Dark Kylo Ren, Dark Rey, Epic Battles, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fight Sex, Fights, Knights of Ren - Freeform, Kylo Norse King, Light Bondage, Possessive Kylo Ren, Possessive Rey, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Rey Valkyrie, Rey trains Kylo, Reylo Week, Reylo Week 2018, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Tension, kylo Ren/OFC (briefly), old relationship (will go away), this is going to get dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-04-28 10:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Snapcrackle/pseuds/Oh_Snapcrackle
Summary: The misunderstood son of a norse princess, Kylo Ren has fiercely fought to gain his norse throne. The gods are impressed, and to ensure his long reign they have sent a Valkyrie to train and protect him. There is just one rule. An immortal and a mortal cannot love. But Kylo has never been a man to follow rules, even those ordained by Odin. And he is willing to do anything to make her his own.*AU where Kylo is a norse king and Rey his valkyrie protector and eventual lover (after he pulls some shady stuff to keep her)





	1. Vision

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what happened. I was going to write a short Persephone and Hades reference fic as a Reylo Week contribution (the theme was “mythology”). And then this started and it just felt like it needed to become more. I don’t know where this baby is going. I don’t know how long it will take to get there. It just feels promising. I just know its going to get dark.
> 
> This is a take on the mythological stories of the Valkyries and their lovers. I did a tad bit of research on valkyries but I will probably royally screw up some norse stuff (I doubt watching two episodes of Vikings counts as being well versed in the norse lifestyle). I apologize in advance.

 

 

 

Blood.

 

He has bathed in it since entering this world from his mother’s womb and he has never been cleansed of it. Born a wailing child hellbent on slaughter, it is his birthright. Like his grandfather before him. It seems fitting that this day, his name-making day, would be as bloody and noisy as his birth. That he would take at least one life as he had his mother’s on her birthing bed. Blood clings to him, even as he pulls his sword from the gapping body of his enemy and finishes them with a heavy downstroke. 

 

His uncle’s head rolls off to the side to join the last of his disciples.

 

It is the end of a reign, a peaceful one as many would say. Prosperous.

 

He slides his sword into the wet ground and leans on it as he bends down. He looks into the dead eyes of his uncle, the man that promised to protect and guide him. A man that claimed he would bring him peace and stifle his rages. That is until he learned he couldn’t control his nephew. Then he tried to have him executed. 

 

But his uncle was a fool. A blind fool. And it is his job, as the last of the great Skywalkers to return their people to their true nature.

 

“Foolish Uncle, your visions failed you,” He presses two fingers to his uncle’s eyelids, and pulls them down as if setting him to sleep, “I am here to make your wrongs right.”

 

He pulls back, and stands up, wiping the blood on his pants. He sheaths his sword. The motion brings his men to his side - a contingency of ten men and women cloaked in war. They flank him, shields thrown over their backs and swords at their sides, waiting. He doesn’t have to look at them to know what they expect. He doesn’t disappoint.

 

The throne is a step away. It sits above the rest of the great hall, the head of all the great tables. And what a massive throne it is. Built from the fallen ships of their enemies, his grandfather had seen it inlay with the greatest of their spoils. Gold ribbons that make the hair of glorious goddess with emeralds for eyes. The grand silver tree of Yggdrasil with leaves of rubies and tourmaline. And from all the wealth, at the top of the chair like wings stretching backward are piles and piles of the largest of antlers. Deer. Elk. Reindeer from afar. It's a throne built by the greatest of the Norse kings.

 

He ascends it in a single step, his long stride closing the distance instantly. And he doesn’t hesitate to take a seat. 

 

His entourage bends at the knee, falling before him with swords pressed to the ground and heads down.

 

They look like a flock of ravens knee deep in a lake of blood.

 

He lets a small smile tug at his lips. 

 

It is finally his.

 

——

 

Like his uncle, he has the dreams. Most nights they are feelings. Corruption. Fear. Darkness. Clouds and lightning that scorch the earth and flay his men and women alive. But tonight, something is different.

 

On this night it is not darkness and storms that flicker behind his eyelids.

 

The sky is bright with golden sunlight, rays of it streaming from the clouds above. The world is quiet, and not a thing stirs. Even the meadow grasses are still. He looks up to the sky, searching for something that he can’t place. 

 

The sky parts, as if giant hands are pushing away at the clouds. The light that pours forth is so blinding he has to glance away and shade his eyes. But when he looks back, it has wavered. And from the sky descends a creature bathed in a shimmering gold light. As it draws closer he can see pale white feathers, the color of alabaster, folded around a body. The feathered being glides to the world below, landing without causing a disturbance.

 

Time stills.

 

And then it spreads its wings, unfolding them to the sky like a newborn bird before shaking off bits of dew.

 

His breath catches, as his eyes fall to the creature which is kneeling on the ground. Sunlight radiates from it, casting it in an outline and making it hard to see. But it is enough for him to make out small willowy curves. A woman. And then she turns her face toward him, and his heart freezes in his chest.

 

He wakes then, sweat dripping from his brow onto his pallet. He must have jolted in the dream because the woman curled around him lets out a grumble. She lifts her bare thigh from his waist before shifting out of his grip and turning her back to him. He doesn’t try to pull her back even though she takes most of the furs and her heat with her.

 

It would do him good to feel the cold bite of the winter night.

 

Instead, he flips over onto his side and runs a hand through his drenched hair.

 

He tries to fight the wave of anxiety that clings to him, knowing the dream will hold some meaning in the days to come.

 

But he can only think of searing eyes and wings as pale as snow.

 


	2. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo is haunted by visions and decides to journey to the temple of the gods for answers.

 

“You have a great amount of destiny to you,” His uncle used to say. At the time it filled him with pride. Favored by the gods with gifts like strength and visions he knows these are rare gifts among his people. They revere him for it.

“Too much of your grandfather in you,” Luke would say under his breath and shake his head. Usually, this was the point he would stop sparring with his nephew and walk away, a distant look in his eyes. Luke’s sadness he attributed to a man mourning the loss of a father. And who wouldn’t grieve the death of Anakin Skywalker, the greatest of the norse kings? Stories of his adventures often filled the fireside chats. Little ones would sit with bated breath as the elders regaled them with stories of elves, bears, and wolves. How the greatest of norse kings forged a throne unlike any seen before. How he conquered seas never before seen. The fiercest of warriors. To be compared to his grandfather, well, that had been the greatest compliment his uncle could have bestowed.

That was until he learned his Uncle hadn’t meant it as a compliment. As he grew older he started to hear the sadness in his Uncle’s tone. He started to hear the people’s whispers. He started to understand that a little destiny was a blessing. Too much destiny was a curse.

And destiny, apparently, did not end with reclaiming his grandfather’s throne.

Each night, for the following three nights, a different vision presents itself.

On the second night since his return to Hvall, he falls drunk into bed hoping the ale will keep the gods at bay. It doesn’t work. Instead, sleep presents him with a series of images. Dark horses with metal on their backs and men that cling to them. Wetlands thick with blood while an unkindness of ravens rips carrion from the ground. Carved skull inlay with gold. An old man cloaked in black. Ships that cross to unseen lands. Skies that part and sunlight that streams through the heavens. And in the midst of it all, a waif of a girl with wings spread wide. He only wakes, jerked from his sleep and pouring sweat, when the girl turns and pins him with her eyes.

The third night he drinks even more, and his men carry him to his pallet. He doesn’t remember falling to sleep, but the visions persist. This time he sees a king in a castle made of gold and silver with a throne made of stone. Men and women gather about him, shrinking as Kylo walks toward the man. The king doesn’t flinch, but smiles and reaches out a hand. Then it all shifts, and he is in a cold place, where water drips and the stone is harsh. There is a single window, and to that, he clings. From the bars, he can see a field of black grass, and in the center is the girl. Her wings stretch outward, covering the sky and blocking out the sun. And the sound that rings from her mouth pulls flesh from bone and makes blood scream. Even across the vastness of the field, their eyes meet. And again he wakes with sweat on his brow and his stomach churns. He doesn’t try to drink as much the next night.

The fourth night brings him an old man, ravens gathered about his robes. And he points to something in the distance. Kylo turns, seeing Hvall with the glorious great hall. His people are gathering in the center, dancing around fires that lick at the skies. He walks toward them, realizing they are not his people, but the gods. Freja with her hair as white as snow and Odin with aged wrinkles watch as their children dance. And he sees his mother, as everyone described her. Hair as black as night, woven into braids that hang over her ears. Young. Fierce. She gives him a smile as she dances past, her eyes flashing with cleverness. And there is his uncle, so much younger than the man he knew. The sad swallow of his eyes is still there but dimmed by youth. He too smiles. Slowly the family he has never known is parading in front of him. His grandfather, whose name is both feared and revered, is as tall as the stories claim. The man gives him a nod as he pulls along his wife Padme. She is half his size, with warm eyes and hair full of flowers that flow behind her like water. She touches his cheek gently before diving back into the dance. Then they all go up in flames. And at the center of it all, untouched by the raging inferno, is the winged girl. She is curled into herself, wings folded over her body. And like a baby bird hatching from an egg, she unravels from the flames.

As different as the visions are, the girl is in all of them. And no matter how much he drinks, or how much he drowns himself in work, or how many times he works through his sword forms, she is burned into his eyes and won’t let him rest.

So on the fourth night, when he wakes from the dream with the flames, he makes a decision.

——

It is becoming clear that he is a viking war king ruling over farmers. He knew his uncle was incompetent, but he hadn’t known how incompetent.

“Two able ships, Ren. That is all that is left.”

A collective growl of disgust fills the hall at the news, even as their king makes no sound. As each of his men returns with a sordid assessment of their territory, it is clear returning Hvall to its former glory will be challenging. His uncle has turned most of the territories into farmlands - forgoing the building of ships and the metalworks. There are only a handful of shipwrights and metallurgists in the territory. And they are more experienced in the building of fishing ships and horseshoes. It is a poor foundation. How is a king to raid and gain riches for his people when they have but two ships?

Three if you count the war vessel that brought him here.

But there are more pressing matters than the number of raid ships. And with the great winter gusts nipping at their heels, it won’t be long before the ices cover the sea and it would be beyond folly to raid. His people have more than enough food to survive the winter. They can make their plans beside the fires and rise with the spring to rebuild. Warrior kings have come back from worse odds than the ones he is facing. And all those kings have one thing in common.

They were favored by the gods.

“Thank you, brothers and sisters. It appears we all agree there is much work to be done. At least we will survive the winter.”

There are nods and murmurs of agreement.

“There is one thing that must be done before we consider our next step.”

The hall falls quiet for a moment. They have all heard this tone enough to have an idea of what he intends.

“A few of us must make a journey to Uppsala to seek the gods’ favor.”

They knew it was coming. A new ruler is a fool to not make the journey. And they have decided to follow him for the blood that runs in his veins and for his dedication to the old ways. If they are to return their people and Hvall to its former glory then he must go. They slam their fists against the table in agreement. Eager eyes wait to hear who will travel with him and who will stay.

“I shall take Luta and Hrok with me. I am leaving Sigrid in charge. We will need to prepare our sacrifices and leave in the morning.”

The group disbands to prepare for the travels, leaving him with only one person to face. Yri steps out from the shadows, where she has regarded the exchange since dawn. Even in the half-light of the candles and the setting sun she is a beautiful sight to behold. Long pale hair is half up in a series of complex braids. She has decided to dress in a gown as green as spring, though a warm cape of wolfskin settles over her shoulders. The perfect vision of a norse woman. Days ago it made his blood sing just to look upon her. But that was before the visions. Now it just tingles, like the pang of a phantom limb. He can see it in her eyes, the awareness of the change in his fervor for her.

“You’re going to Uppsala?”

He leans his head against his hand and watches with a wry smile as she moves toward him.

“In the morning.”

“But we just got here. You just won your throne. Surely the gods can wait another week?”

“We both know the gods don’t like to wait.”

She stops just before him and hesitates. He can see she wants to reach out to him, and if it had just been a few days ago she would have. Now, however, there is a heaviness in the air around them that gives her pause. He wonders how she can tell so easily that something is different. Then imagines it is one of those skills granted to women and not so much to men. She closes the distance between them, pushing his legs apart to stand between them. She reaches for his face, running her soft hands over his jawline and then into his hair. It forces him to look into her eyes. She tilts her head and brings their lips together for a tinder and sweeping kiss. His lips tingle and his blood hums.

But it is not as it was before. Before he would have grabbed her and taken her on the throne. Hadn’t he imagined such a thing for the months they planned and plotted taking back Hvall?

Now it’s a pleasant pressure that is neither desired nor hated.

She pulls away as if burned. Her eyes are flashing with anger and hurt. Quickly she puts some distance between them and raises a hand to her lips.

“It is the dreams you’ve had all these nights, isn’t it?” She hisses, and he can hear the fear vibrating through her voice. “That’s why you are going to Uppsala. And that is why you won’t touch me as you should.”

He regards her with sad eyes and does his best to push back the anger that is swelling at her accusations. Because she is right, and he can’t rage at her for being right. Not at this woman. Still, his voice comes out clipped and shredded, “I will touch you as I feel fit to touch you, Yri. For now, I do not feel like touching.”

“Is that why you are really going to Uppsala? So the gods may grant you the ability to touch again?” She spits, her cheeks turning red and he can see tears forming in her eyes.

Anger flares in his chest at the insinuation and he descends from the throne before she can take a step back. He has her neck in his hand in a second; pulls her up off the ground so her feet dangle. She gasps and grabs his arm, frantically kicking. He can feel her nails sinking into his forearm, but he is too far gone to care.

“You forget yourself,” He growls, pulling her closer to his face, “You won’t do so again.”

He drops her, and she crumples to the ground. A delicate hand flies to her throat and she stares at him with wide, frightened eyes as he ascends his throne again. He settles back into his spot, slinging a leg over one armrest and stares beyond her to the door.

At some point she gathers herself, dusting off her beautiful dress. She glares at him with her bright green eyes, before lifting her chin and walking out of the hall. With her gone, he undoes his fists and takes a big gulp of air. He tries to ignore the tremors in his hands.

He needs to get a grip if he is to go to Uppsala to face the gods. Where he can hide his inner turmoil from his men and women, the priests and gods are not so blind.

——

Another night passes, this one without a vision, but his sleep is restless. When he wakes it is with heavy bones and an ache to stay under the covers until sunlight streams from the rafters. He turns over, resting his head on his arm as he watches Yri’s back rise and fall. She is as far from him on the pallet as she can manage without sleeping on the floor. He found her that way when he returned to his hut in the night. He didn’t dare touch her then, and even though he wants to lay a comforting hand on her waist, he knows it would be unwelcome. He would do it more to assuage his own guilt than to make things right. And she knows it.

He sighs and pulls himself from the pallet. He has a journey ahead, and while it isn’t too long the nights are growing colder. The sooner they head out, the sooner they will be back. And hopefully, he will have some answers. Maybe this sickness that is pervading his mind will vanish.

As it stands now, the not knowing is consuming him. He needs the help of a seer.

Yri pretends not to hear him as he dresses and gathers his things for the journey. It isn’t until he is halfway out the door that he hears her whisper, “May the gods be with you.”

He pauses, and glances over his shoulder, trying to sear the image of this woman in his bed so he can visit it in his travels. He isn’t sure it works.

“And you,” He whispers, before tossing his furs over his back and heading to the edge of the village where Luta and Hrok wait.

His two companions are leaning against the gate and munching on dried fruit. They grin as he approaches. Sunlight is peeking over the horizon, and the rest of the village is starting to stir. Best to get a move on.

“See you had trouble waking this morning,” Luta jokes. She pushes back a long braid of blonde hair and presents a toothy grin.

“Don’t give him too much trouble, girl. He is a king now. His job doesn’t end when the sun sets. Especially now,” Hrok gives him a playful punch to the shoulder before grabbing his own supplies,  “But you wouldn’t know a thing about that, would you shield-maiden?”

Luta pushes out her lower lip and glowers at Hrok, which only makes the older man laugh. “More than I ever wanted to know the way you lot go on. You’d think it was better than fighting.”

That only makes the man laugh more, “If you are doing it right, it certainly is.”

Kylo can’t help but laugh at that, and the three of them make their way out of the village with lighter steps than they have taken in months. It has been too long, he realizes since he had time to listen to his people banter and bicker without the looming promise of battle. It seems Luta and Hrok’s souls are lighter for it.

“Well, the day I decide to take a man, be sure I won’t take your sage advice, Hrok.”

“Gods do I pity the man that decides to bed you.”

Kylo and Hrok share a look, which Luta tries to ignore. She stomps on ahead, her crown of blonde braids bouncing along until she disappears into the brush. Kylo has to laugh at her.

“So glad we decided to take that little hellion in. Haven’t had a boring day since.” Hrok says fondly, and Kylo clasps him on the shoulder.

“I pity you the day you finally make her your wife.”

Hrok, as always, looks horrified at the idea, even though his cheeks color. Having been the boy to find the little scrap of a girl in an abandoned village, Hrok has taken her under his wing. He raised her the only way a teenage male warrior knows how. Now just at the cusp of womanhood, the little waif of a girl is becoming one of their most skilled shield maidens. And clever at that.

“And what of you and Yri? Bout time you made her your wife.”

Kylo has to fight the bristling of his shoulders. Hrok might look like a half-mad, dense, battering ram with braids, but he is no fool. Kylo doesn’t even get to say a word before Hrok has stopped in the middle of the road and is giving him a suspicious look.

“You are going to make her your wife.” He says it as more of a statement than a question.

“Of course,” Kylo manages to choke out, and he doesn’t know why it sounds so unsteady. A few days ago and he would have answered it with a definite yes. As a new king it was imperative he has a son, and Yri was right there. Beautiful, fierce, Yri who once made his blood quicken. In her, he saw the promise of a future with beautiful and strong children. A queen his people deserved.

Hrok doesn’t look convinced.

“You’ve been off since we took back Hvall. No one’s said a word about it. But we’ve all noticed. I keep telling everyone you need time.”

“Of course I’m off. I finally have what is mine after years of waiting. I am still … adjusting.”

“But it’s not that, is it?”

Kylo didn’t select Luta and Hrok to accompany him for the banter. Out of all his warriors, the two were the least likely to gossip. Hrok wouldn’t say a word about his visions, as he has kept quiet about them before. And Luta, despite all her bluster, is as rigid as a tree when it comes to loyalty. She won’t breathe a word.

“No,” Kylo pauses until Hrok pushes him to continue, “There was a vision.”

Hrok doesn’t look shocked, only sad. Visions rarely bode well.

“I was in a field and the clouds parted. There was a lot of light, and then this feathered creature descended from the heavens. And it had white wings and the body of a woman.”

That does shock his friend, and for the first time in ages, Hrok seems speechless. When the words finally do bubble out, they are riddled with shock.

“A woman. With wings. From the heavens.”

“Yes.”

“There is only one thing I know in our stories that sounds like that.”

“I know.”

“You don’t think -“

“I’m afraid to think. You know how visions are. You think one thing, but they turn into another. Perhaps Loki is but playing a trick. Perhaps it means war. Will we win it? Or will the clouds part and Thor strike us down?”

“Or, it could mean something else?” Hrok says quietly, “You know your grandfather was once visited upon by an elf.”

Kylo sighs. He knows this farce of a story, “My grandfather’s wife, Padme, was not an elf.”

Hrok snorts, “They say he went hunting one day when he was a boy. And a great elf saw his skill and decided to teach him the gift of their swordplay. So he stayed with the great elf for three weeks and learned their ways. And he met the most beautiful of them, a young elf with eyes like a doe and hair filled with flowers. And he fell in love with her, though he didn’t know it at the time. Then, one day as a grown man, the memory of her not able to leave him, he returned to the elves and convinced her to come back with him. Seeing the fortunes he gathered and the skill of his craft, she agreed. But she gave him a warning. What was that warning, Kylo?”

He flushes, “She told him that they should not have children, for if they do she will die in the process.”

“And for years they were together, but a king needs a child. And so Padme, despite his pleas because he could not bear to lose her, grew with child. And as those children grew inside her, so did her husband’s madness. But I ask you, in his madness, did Anakin not become the greatest of kings?”

“It is just a story, Hrok. None of which is true. My grandmother was not an elf. My grandfather did not learn his skill from the creatures of the forest, nor was he born to a virgin mother. They are stories that are told of a great king to make him greater.”

Hrok shakes his head, “You miss my point, brother. What if they are not just stories? Why do you think you have these visions if you are not the grandson of an elf and a chosen one of the gods?”

“There are others that have the visions that have relatives without such claims. It is not uncommon.”

“And others that fight like you do? Others as fierce and as strong a shield maiden as your mother before you? Even your uncle, despite his madness, was unmatched in skill. Until you.”

“And if so, what difference does it make for the vision? It makes it no clearer. If anything, it makes it muddier,” and tired of hearing his brother’s ramblings, Kylo steps ahead to leave his companion in the dust behind him.

“You’ve always had a lot of destiny about you, brother!” Hrok calls from behind him, and Kylo winces at the familiar words, “Best to stop denying the gods and just give in. Before they grow tired of your surly attitude!”

“Then stop following me,” Kylo calls back, and Hrok lets out a rumbling laugh.

“And why would I do that, King Ren? Then I’d have the most boring life.“

 

—–

**Up Next:** Kylo arrives at the temple and gets some answers. Upon going back home he learns of a threat to Hvall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love! <3 
> 
> I promise you, Rey will arrive VERY soon. Just got to lay the foundations for this beast of a fic. Besides, Kylo needs to be tortured a little bit before the real fun starts. (Just as a side note: I imagine Kylo’s followers or “people” as the Knights of Ren. Characters like Finn, Poe, Rose, Snoke, and Hux will have roles to play.)


	3. Uppsala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo seeks help with his visions. He picks up a straggler, too.

 

Nights are restless and without much sleep, but the visions do not appear. He hopes that his decision to visit Uppsala has pleased the gods enough to let them relent. Of course every-time he does close his eyes he still sees the girl. So he pushes Hrok and Luta into a relentless pace, but the two don’t complain. They are used to his moods and impatience, so they weather it with the grace of faithful followers. Thus, they are not surprised to see the glittering gold rooftop of Uppsala a day before they were set to arrive. The promise of warm fires and soon returning home gives them renewed energy. They make the summit of the mountain by mid-day.

Of the known world, there is nothing as beautiful or as haunting as the temple at Uppsala. Built by the gods, it is governed by a select group of priests that keep the fires stoked and the god’s totems cared for. Here visions are deciphered, wishes brought to life and promises made. It is a place of great magic. He can feel the weight of the place in his bones as if the dead and the sacrificed are reaching out to him from the heavens. He tries to push away the feelings as his uncle taught him. His first visit to the temple of sacrifices filled his head with so many voices that he was unconscious for a week. He doesn’t wish to revisit that ordeal so he shoves up what he can of his angered memories and uses them to drown out the dead. It works.

There is not a soul to be seen, so they cross the steps to the temple door and enter the sanctum. Heat presses against their skin, flushing their cold cheeks. They take a second to catch their breath. Without a word, they cross to the middle of the great room to stand before a table. It is lined with candles, a single bowl, a pitcher and a wand of yew. Behind the table stands a man taller than even Kylo, with skin greyed with dye. Kylo hears Luta intake a surprised breath at the sight of the priest. It is her first time seeing one of the self-scared men. This one has scars running from his forehead over his eyes and cheeks to rest under his chin. Between two eyes he has a simple scarred circle. His third eye. Kylo remembers his uncle explaining on one their trips to the temple. Kylo isn’t sure if there is a third eye under the man’s flesh, but he isn’t one to question the priests or the gods.

The priest steps forward and takes the pitcher and pours its contents into the bowl made of gold. Its red and the metallic smell of blood immediately meet his nose. Then the priest lifts the bowl and takes the wand of yew. Low hums expel from his throat, growing louder until they form a chant. A blessing of the gods. As he sings, he steps to each of them and dips the wand into the bowl. Then he flicks the wand at their faces, splattering them with blood. When all three have been anointed and his chant is done, he bows and steps away. They return the gesture before moving further into the temple.

There are three gods of which to seek guidance, but only one can be seen in a visit. The goddess Freja sits to the right, her belly swollen and her hair long. She is to be visited when one seeks help in marriage and love, which Kylo has no need for at the moment. Then there is Thor, who sits at the center of the temple and dwarfs the others. His mighty hammer is at his feet and his eyes reach toward the skies as if ready to summon the storms to his bidding. He is visited when one needs help with battle. Kylo skips him as well and moves to the left where Odin sits. The all father’s totem is not youthful like the others. Instead, the great father of all the gods is shown with long white hair and wrinkles. He is covered with robes and hood. Ravens clamber over his shoulders. It is here that he stops and rests his head against the coolness of the wood. Odin is sought to help with visions and for wisdom. Both of which he needs now.

“All-father,” He whispers, his lips touching the wood as his hands press into the carvings, “I am in need of your guidance.”

“I have conquered my greatest demon and killed my uncle as I foresaw in my visions. I thought this is what you intended, but it appears you have more need of me. I ask that you please help me clearly understand your messages in the visions. Are they things that may come to pass? Will there be more war for my people? What is this prison that you show me? Who is this girl?”

Of course, the gods make no sign of hearing him. They never do. But he continues anyway.

“Perhaps you mean for me to learn the truths of these visions in the times to come. If that is the case, then I only ask for your favor for my people and their wellbeing. Please see that Hvall is cared for and favored.”

He presses a kiss to the totem before stepping away. He can already feel the disappointment gathering in his gut at the lack of results, and his fingernails have pressed crescents into the wood of the great father. He needs to step out of the temple before he does much worse. The heat and incense are making his head spin. So he bows to the priest and leaves the chambers as quickly as he can without drawing much attention. The minute he steps from the heat, into the crisp mountain air he heaves a small sigh of relief. Temples have never put him in the best of control. And he is rather impressed that he has held himself together this long. The last time they visited Uppsala he had fallen to the ground in a fit when trying to beg Odin for a favor.

Which is why he is on a first name basis with all the priests.

“Lord Ren, you have grown stronger,” Priest Loighir says coming up behind him and leaning against the temple door, “Perhaps killing your uncle did you some good after all.”

Ren shoots a halfhearted glare at the priest, who just chuckles and rests a hand on his shoulder, “Forgive me. I should not joke about such things.”

“I’m surprised you laugh about it. Last I recall, you sided with my uncle.”

“Your uncle was a fool, but a beloved fool. The gods favored him, just as they favor you.”

“They didn’t favor him enough,” Kylo adds, and he doesn't need to say more to get that point across.

“It appears so. But isn’t it the way of things? The young are meant to surpass the old. The gods see in you something they wish to bring to fruition.”

“Which is why I am here. It appears they are not done with me.”

Loighir laughs, “Did you think they would be? You are a Skywalker. Destiny is in your blood. You’ll never escape it. Not even in death.”

Such a morose thought, Kylo thinks. He turns from Loighir and goes to walk away, but the priest grabs his arm.

“I take it Odin didn’t give you a sign, then?”

“Does he ever?” He mutters, looking at the hand and trying to decide how to best remove it.

“Remember, there are other ways to speak with the gods. Sometimes you just need to quiet your mind and listen.”

Kylo, nods, knowing what Loighir means. He hasn’t meditated in a long time, but if he can’t get answers through the totems then he might have better luck with meditation. “I’ll take that advice.”

“Good, then you should make camp tonight. We will see you and your people are fed.”

They both nod at each other before Loighir disappears into the temple. Kylo is left standing trying to think of a quiet spot. He knows the area well and decides on a place near the falls. The thundering water will keep all other noises at bay, including those in his own mind. So he leaves his furs and gear at one of the tents and makes for the falls. Finding a remote spot, he settles into the pose he learned as a young boy. Legs crossed. Hands on knees. And he closes his eyes and listens to the crash of the water.

It takes longer than it should, and he notes he needs to practice more. But with time his mind clears and the sensation of being out of his body washes over him. The visions fall away, as do the images of the girl, until nothing but his soul bared to the air and the wind. He stays like this, the in-between as it is called until a coldness sweeps over his body. Another vision distorts the stillness of his mind.

It's a field of black, with storm clouds overhead. Ravens are flocking, and lightning is flashing across the skies. Men and women moan from the ground, their shields and weapons scattered about the field. He steps over them, ignoring the hands that reach up to grasp his pants. He keeps moving, hands skimming over the grasses until he finds he is standing at the base of a large tree. There sits an old man, clothed in black robes and leaning against a gnarled walking stick. At his feet are four severed heads with glassed over eyes. There is one of his uncle and of his mother. Another for his grandfather and one of his grandmother. The Skywalker line. Blood seeps from their heads to the ground and into the roots of the tree. The old man looks up at him from beneath his hood and points behind him. His deep voice booms through Kylo's skull.

War.

Kylo turns to look behind him and sees what the old man points to. The girl is crossing the field of bodies. Her white wings stretch behind her - arms outstretched. In her wake pale spirits ascend to the heavens. His heart stops at the sight of her, the first time seeing her in full and so close. Warm brown hair, and sun-kissed skin. Eyes as wide as a doe, but a jaw set in purpose. Her armor clinks as she walks, creating a chiming melody that rises to a cacophony as she ascends the hill. She stops less than a foot from him.

He is rooted to the spot, unable to move. At this distance, he can count the number of freckles dotting her nose. She reaches out a hand to push some of the blood from his face. Somehow he knows to bend just a little, and she takes both sides of his face in her hands and gives him a kiss on the forehead. His cheeks heat, and he can feel a little burn from her lips as his blood hums.

Blood. Bring me his blood. The old man cries against his skull as her lips press against his brow. And he thinks his skull will split with the pressure of it all. The heat of her lips. The screaming of the All-Father.

And then it all falls to dust, and he snaps from his vision with such force he is momentarily blinded. When he comes to he is aware of a hand on his shoulder, and he whips around to reach for a neck…

But there is none.

A tinkling laugh fills the air, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He glances around for the source of the voice and finds a short little woman with leathery skin and large brown eyes. Her hair is pulled back in a series of messy braids with are littered with feathers, sticks, and flowers. Her face is that of a heart, but the title of her mouth hints at mischief. He recognizes the necklace of bones and the little bag that jingles at her hip.

“Volva,” he hisses, not in anger but shock. It was more common to see a witch in a village than it was around the gods’ temples. Generally, the men shaman took to being priests and seers and stayed at the temples. The women shaman, the volvas, tend to travel and stick to the villages where they are always offered a warm bed and a meal for their advice. To see a volva near a temple is rare.

“Maz,” She nods, holding out her hand in the traditional greeting.

“Maz,” He repeats, and brushes back some of his hair, “Kylo Ren.” He returns the hand gesture.

“Oh, I know,” She remarks, “You are a hard man to mistake.”

He gives her a quizzical look, “That I doubt. There are many tall men with black hair in these areas.”

“True, but none with such big ears,” He colors at that and makes to grab his knife, but the next thing out of her mouth stops him.

"And you have the aura of a Skywalker."

That does capture his attention, so he doesn’t complain when she has a seat near him. She falls into a similar position. Legs tucked underneath and hands on her knees. Her bangles jingle and he catches a whiff of fire and herbs.

“How would you know? There is only one Skywalker left, and I know we haven’t met before.” His hand slides away from the knife.

She turns to give him a knowing smile, “I met your Uncle, a long time ago, when I passed through Hvall. He had a unique aura. Like yours. Except you have more darkness to yours.”

“So I’ve been told,” He mutters.

“Doesn’t mean that's a bad thing. Without darkness, there is no light. Without light, there is no darkness.”

“Should have told that to my uncle when you met him.”

She laughs at that, “Your Uncle was not nearly as blinded by the light when I met him, though he was already on that path. But he is with the heavens now. No use in dwelling on that past when there is much to dwell on in the present.” One of her eyebrows raises at this, and her warm brown eyes become deeper with understanding - as if with a look she can convey a deep well of hidden secrets.

“What do you know, Volva?”

Her lips twitch at that, “So forward. I can see why Odin favors you. So much like your grandfather.”

That makes him freeze in surprise, “Favor? Odin?”

She reaches out a hand and places a single finger on his forehead. He considers moving back, but either she cast a spell to hold him in place or his body has forsaken him. A little tilt of her lips makes him think it might be a spell.

“Yes. The visions. The future. The girl. He favors you.”

Then the spell breaks, and he pulls back. “The visions. What do they mean?”

She shrugs, “Only time will tell.”

“And the girl?”

Maz pauses and squints her eyes at him, turns her head to the side like she is puzzling him out. “You already know the answer to that, Ren.”

“She’s a Valkyrie, then. Why am I seeing her?”

“Without darkness, there is no light. Without light, there is no darkness. You need a ray of light to guide you in the days ahead. Odin intends great things. She is insurance, of a sort.”

“A Valkyrie. He sends visions of a Valkyrie to help guide me.”

Maz reaches out a hand to place over his, and again he finds he can’t pull away. She leans in close, so close he can count the wrinkles on her cheeks if he wished to.

“Dear boy,” she whispers low, “Not visions. She will be flesh. She will be bone. She will be blood.”

A little thrill rushes down his spine at the thought. Maz must have caught it because her eyes glass over and she is pulling him in closer and hissing at him.

“A gift of a Valkyrie to guide. But not to want. To love such a being is a dangerous thing. Do not walk that path.”

And then she lets him go. She settles back into her seated position and her demeanor changes. She is back to smiles and warm eyes. He stares at her wide-eyed. He has met other volvas, but none like this. None with a gift as strong as hers.

“Love has never been so kind to me, so why should I seek a path paved in it?” He mutters though he can feel the tinge of heat to his cheeks.

Maz lets out a little snort and pins him with her eyes. From her belt, she pulls a little piece of sea glass, one sanded to the point it is clear. She holds it up to one of her eyes and grabs one of his hands. He falls toward her, and she tilts her head back and forth as if surveying his worth.

“All creatures, even those born and caked in blood, seek love. The trick is to find love in the right places.”

Then she lets him go and tucks away her little piece of sea glass. “I can help you,” she says a moment later.

Hrok’s words come to mind, Just give into the gods. And he looks at this Maz woman and then at the falls. He thinks about the things she has said, and the truth that rings in her words. Hvall does not currently have a resident shaman.

“You want to come to Hvall? That is why you sought me out, volva?”

The volva turns to look at him, a big smile plastered on her face.

“Why else do you think I hiked all the way up this mountain? Do you think it was for the view?”

He assesses her, “Then you should come with us. Stay for the winter or longer. You can train some of the younger ones in your art.”

Maz doesn’t even give pause to consider, “I accept your offer, Lord Ren. But you must agree to one condition.”

“And what would that be, Volva?”

“You supply me with as much mead and ale as I desire. And you give me the ability to speak freely to you.”

“Speak freely in private,” He counters, and she nods; a slight tilt to her lips.

“Very well, so long as you are not being an idiot.”

There isn’t much he can say to that. Volva are given freedom of tongues more so than most people. He knows well that asking one to hold their intuition back could be folly. So he agrees. The rest of the time they sit in silence until she disappears into the woods at dusk. He makes his way to the campsite and sees his two companions have already turned in for the night. He falls onto his pallet and sleeps without waking. No visions.

And when dawn arrives he wakes to find Maz perched like a bird at the edge of his furs. Today she has her own furs slung over her back and a few packs on a belt at her side.

His two companions also wake with a shock. Hrok reaches for his ax and throws it at the volva. She dodges it easily and lets out a trilling laugh. The minute he realizes what she is he goes deathly pale. He starts stumbling over his words.

“So sorry, Volva. I didn’t know.”

Luta, however, is not so kind, “What in Thor’s name do you think you are doing you witch! You can’t just appear at the foot of our beds!”

Maz tilts her head at the girl and then turns back to look at Kylo, “It's dawn. Best time to start a journey.” And then she jumps up and flits out of the tent before anyone can say a word.

——

“I don’t like her,” Luta growls, waiting until Maz is out of earshot before voicing her complaints.

“Don’t speak of a volva like that,” Hrok hisses, and gives Luta a gentle knock to the head, “They can hear you, even at this distance. The woods will tell them all.”

“She is a woman like me, and the gods gave me free choice to like and dislike who I please,” Luta bites back. “Let the woods tell her.”

“It's best not to upset a Volva, Luta,” Kylo warns, knowing well that Luta doesn’t put much stock in magics. “It is well known that they will curse you should you cross them.”

Luta lets out a snort, but she doesn’t say anything more about Maz. In truth, Kylo can’t blame Luta. He gets a strange reading from the volva, too. Not a bad one, but not a good one either. As if she has her own agenda that will not align with his should the time ever come. He hopes she will stay the winter and help his people before moving on. It would give him time to train another in her place or to send for a volva from another encampment. Though that probably won’t happen. A good volva is hard to come by and a blessing to have.

The rest of the trip is quiet, with Maz occasionally joining them for food and conversation when she gets tired of trudging on alone. For the most part, she sticks to herself and spends her time running hands over trees, looking to the sky, and muttering to herself. Luta tries to stay as far away from her as possible, and Hrok gives her a wide berth more out of courtesy than fear. Kylo neither seeks out the little woman nor ignores her.

So on the third day of their journey, they are surprised when she darts out of the woods and shushes them. Alarm flashes across her eyes, and immediately they duck into the woods and out of sight from the road.

“Scouts,” she whispers when they settle for a moment, and they all glance at the road to see what she means. There are two men in furs and battle regalia walking down the road. They recognize the formation and the pattern to which they move. Maz is right - scouts.

“Do you recognize the clan?” Hrok asks the group, and Luta shakes her head. Kylo squints, trying to make out the symbols woven on their skin but can’t place it. Maz, however, does.

“They are from Dofrar, I recognize the wolf marking.” Her little-wrinkled hand points to their necks. Sure enough, there are two semi-identical marks of a wolf climbing up their Adam's apple.

All three of them let out a quiet curse. This wasn’t supposed to happen for weeks, and they had hoped the winter would at least keep them at bay until spring.

“How did this get out?” Hrok whispers, “You haven’t even claimed Hvall in our liege’s name and already the resistance groups are moving into our territories.”

“The farmland people are still part of the resistance. We should have cut them down with Skywalker,” Luta hisses. Kylo knows she is right, but there is no point to killing everyone and ruling over a territory of grass and snow. He had hoped to have time to tempt them with his vision. Apparently, they hadn’t given him the chance to show them what kind of life he could provide.

“Should we cut them down before they return to their party?” Hrok asks, hand falling to his ax. Kylo reaches out a hand to still him.

“No. If they don’t return the party will know something is not right. Let us wait until they pass. If they are good at their jobs they will expect us to be gone, and we can slip back into Hvall to make our plans.”

He turns to look at Maz, raising an eyebrow. If she intends to join them for the time being, she better well help them determine the best course of action. If the gods to speak to her, surely she will have some input into this situation. The little volva just smiles a knowing smile and nods.

“They would only send a small number of scouts. Slipping back into Hvall would be the best move for the time being until we can prepare and consult the gods.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. And turns back to Luta and Hrok. They too seem to relax a bit.

“But know this Skywalker,” Maz adds, “The resistance your uncle built to overthrow your liege lord is not known for attacking on an open battlefield. They will strike against your weakest spot.”

Hrok lets out a little laugh, “So very predictable of them.”

And Kylo nods as well, “And we will use that to our advantage.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the kudos and notes! <3 
> 
> More laying of foundations - I can't seem to stop myself! I hope you are still hanging in there! (Couldn't resist the chance to have Maz give Kylo a little hell.) Up next they meet the resistance in battle and someone finally makes an appearance in the flesh. I wonder how our king will react?


	4. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo gets tortured some more. The resistance sets some sparks. Rey finally arrives.

 

Maz casts the bones.

“In a week’s time,” the volva grimaces, and the hall lets out a disgruntled murmur. Too soon. It is all too soon. When they planned to take Hvall they assumed it would take months for the resistance to gather troops. Instead, the resistance has cobbled together enough men and women to attack Hvall before winter. He knows he has good strong men and women warriors. He knows that he can handle what they throw his way. He knows he has the gods on his side. But rushing into even the tamest of battles with too much pride can get one killed. He is too young for such a death, even if destiny wishes.

Kylo leans back into the throne, tapping his fingers against the armrest. He lets his eyes glance over his warriors. They are already muttering about strategies and how to best mount a defense.

“We could use the opportunity to attack Abeltoft. If we get to them before they get to us then it would be a wonderful victory!”

“We could meet them in the woods.”

“We should put all the women and children in the longhouse.”

Kylo listens for a bit and then slams down his cup to get his men’s attention. The hall falls quiet, and now he is the center of every pair of eyes in the room.

“Let us discuss strategy now. Some of you already have ideas in mind. Let us start with Sigard.”

Sigard stands and pushes his black hair from his thin face. Unlike most of his brethren, Sigard is thin and lanky like a snake. His features are long and drawn out and his eyes cut across his face with the sharpness of an owl. Out of all his men, Sigard is their greatest strategist, and Kylo’s choice to let him speak first acknowledges this. Sigard doesn’t hesitate.

“We know they will attack during the week. In the past, their strategies have been to raid and decimate our supplies. They hit swiftly and then disappear into the night. We have no reason to expect they will treat the attack on Hvall differently.”

There are a few murmurs of agreement.

“While we could mount an attack on their stronghold we would leave Hvall vulnerable to attack. It is our intent to keep this place and to make it our home, so that is not an option. We could meet them in transit, but this presents the same problem as attacking Abeltoft. Therefore, we must defend Hvall against attack.” He glances up to look at Kylo, who nods. Sigard turns back to the people.

“We believe they will attack the fields and attempt to destroy our winter stores. We don't expect them to seek open combat. The resistance hasn’t had much time to regroup, and they are desperate to see us destroyed. Especially before we claim the territory in the name of Snoke. Now that we know what they will attack, we need a plan.”

Voices fill the hall, and Sigard listens to each. Kylo watches his friend’s face as he takes in the suggestions, and lets his eyes drift over to Maz. Sigard’s face is easy to read. A downturn lip means he doesn’t like the strategy. A slitted eye means he does. Maz, however, he is still learning to read, but he has noticed she sometimes nods when she likes an idea. Finally, he knows they have one when Sigard’s eyes slit and Maz’s head gives a brief nod.

“Very well,” Kylo announces over the madness of the hall, and all goes quiet. “We have a plan. Sigard take five men and began moving the wares from the storage houses. Luta and Maz direct the women and children so they will know where to hide when the raid starts. Hrok take the remaining and gather as much soil as possible from the riverbanks and begin digging trenches. Gather the people to help. Prepare your clothing for fire. Keep mud at your bedside. We will have visitors soon enough.”

The hall clears as everyone begins work. Kylo takes one last sip from his cup before stepping down from his throne and heading for his chambers. It has been a long night and he has preparations to make. He sits on the end of his pallet, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift as he did at Uppsala. There are no visions, but his body feels calmer. He can feel the residual power of Odin from his last vision humming in his blood.

He comes out of his trance once he hears shuffling and looks up to see Yri entering the room. Tonight her hair is piled on top of her head and some braids spill from the sides.

“Will we survive the raid?” She asks, walking past him to a chest that keeps all her things. She starts rummaging through it, and tosses him a look over her shoulder, “The new volva, Maz, says that we are lucky. You have the blessing of Odin. She told me not to worry.”

Kylo unravels from his position and turns toward her, “Life is never promised, only death.” He hesitates, “But I don’t think it is our time to die.”

This seems to be the answer she was looking for. She turns back to rummaging through her things until she finds what she was looking for. It is a small dagger, the one she once held to his throat when he first met her. It brings a small smile to his face. That is when he had decided that she should be his queen. Any woman that would hold a knife to his throat had to be worth the trouble. Then his smile falls as the girl from his visions flashes across his mind, and Maz’s words stab at him.  _Not that path._

Then there are hands in his hair, and Yri is standing over him settling onto his lap. Her dress has disappeared and her eyes are twinkling.

“Then let us make use of the time we have,” and she seals his lips with a kiss.

He gives in, welcoming the warmth and the distraction. It's been almost a week since he had any kind of release, and the eve of battle always quickens his blood. Yri isn’t much better. She slides down his lap, legs parting and settling on either side of his hips. Her hands press into his hair, tipping his head back as she rubs her breasts up and down his chest. He tugs at his shirt, pulls it loose from his belt and unwraps it, flinging it across the room so he can feel more contact. They both mutter at the contact, and his hands glide down her waist and settle on her hips.

There is nothing slow about this tonight. Both of their pulses are racing and the promise of battle is pumping through their veins. Yri is already using her legs to push herself up and down along his body. His fingers are pressing hard into her hips. He pulls her forward and down, pressing her closer and closer. They both groan into each other's mouths, and Yri releases him from the kiss. She presses them cheek to cheek as she rolls against him. Their breaths are heavy now, gasped and greedy.

He slides a finger between them and presses on her nub and she jerks forward with a hiss. He laughs a little at that, and then reaches to undo his pants. He lifts her to slide them off his hips and frees his erection. Then he sets her back down and she sinks onto him in one swift grind. She rises up, pulling her lip between her teeth and setting a quick pace that has him slamming into her as she rolls down on to him. Their grunts and groans fill the air. She rides him, back bent and mouth open as she lets out little pants. His hands gather at her hips and press her down with every stroke. She’ll have bruises tomorrow, and finger marks he knows. But from the mewls coming from her mouth, she could care less.

The relentless pace has them both heading for climax at breakneck speed. He lets his eyes glide over her and then stops mid-thrust.

Her blonde hair has changed to a warm brown. Her skin is no longer pale but has the kiss of the sun. She is willowy and not as curved. Lithe muscles ripple and he watches as her small breasts rise and fall with her effort. Then she pauses, confusion pulling at her brow. Her brown eyes open and stare at him.

“What is it?”

But the voice is one he recognizes, and he shakes his head. When he opens his eyes again, it's Yri staring at him with concern. They have stopped moving, even though he is still twitching inside her. Determined to continue, because gods he wants to finish, he rolls his hips up and tries to reset the pace.

“Nothing,” he mutters, pressing his head into her shoulder and shutting his eyes. He tries to inhale her scent as he jerks his hips into her. She doesn’t say a word, but grips his hair tighter and starts meeting his jerking hips with hurried strokes. They were both so close, and it doesn’t take them long to build back up the pace. But he doesn’t pull his head from the crux of her neck. One of his hands does slide up her back and grasp the back of her head harshly.

Their breathing fills the air again, and she starts mewling. And for a moment it is Yri moaning and groaning until it morphs into a sound he has never heard. He doesn’t dare pull his head from her neck, even as the girl’s cries make his pace increase. Even as the smell of her fills his nostrils and makes his heart flutter. Even as the hand on her hip grips tighter and the hand on her head digs nails into flesh. Even as moans rip from his throat and his hips are lifting from the pallet with an enthusiasm he hasn’t felt since he was a young boy learning the ways of a woman.

And then she is bending backward, and his face is lost in her chest as she flutters around him. Instinctively both of his hands land on her hips and he pushes the last bit of thrust he has left to spill into her.

He comes down from the high with his head pressed against Yri’s breast, too afraid to look her in the eyes.

And he doesn’t know if it's because he feels guilty of imaging another woman as he thrust into her. Or if its because Yri knows he thought of another woman.

——

Three days pass and Kylo wakes with a start at the horn’s blare. He swiftly gathers his gear and pushes Yri from the pallet. She, too, is already in motion. Her hands fly swiftly over her lacings before slinging on her belt and grabbing her shield and spear. He slides on his boots, gathers his sword and places it in his scabbard. Next, he grabs his ax and shield. Last is his spear. Then they both reach for the bucket of mud, slathering their clothes and faces. They duck out of the longhouse and to their positions. He can see over the fence of the village that there are torches wondering through the fields. They look like little spirits glittering in the night.

Under the cover the night, his men flit between the homes. They find their stations and prepare. Kylo runs their discussions through his head. It will take the resistance at least five minutes to breach the walls if they are fast. Two to locate the food stores. He rests against the longhouse, spear in one hand and shield in the other. Four other warriors are with him, pressed against the shadow of the longhouse and waiting. As expected, a small band of resistance fighters appears at the longhouse door. Kylo motions for his men to stay put.

Closing his eyes, he tries to focus on the intruders. After a second his senses snap into clarity, and he can hear their feet on the wood floors. They are passing the throne, headed to his chambers. He turns to his men then and motions them all forward. They slide into the longhouse, being sure to hide against the walls. The candlelight casts odd shadows. But they know this floor better than their visitors. They avoid all the creaks and groans, and soon they are in his chambers with the three men.

“-How did they know?”

“He’s not here. We need to warn the others. They knew we were -“

But before they could make another sound, one gets an ax to the head and the other a spear to the back. The third makes to rush at them, his mouth open for a war cry. But an arrow to the throat has him fall to the floor at Kylo’s feet. He glances up and nods at Luta. She gives him quick smirk and they move out the back door of the longhouse and toward the food stores. The rest of the resistance will make a move there. It takes them only a minute to weave through the village, staying to the shadows. They pass through the butchery - weaving in and out of the hanging deer and chickens. Finally, they reach the storehouses. They can make out the flicker of torchlight as a band of ten men and women cross the square to the storage houses.

A quick series of chirps fill the air, and Kylo and his men dash from the shadows. The resistance lets out shocked cries and drop their torches to the ground to reach for weapons. Kylo flings his spear into one of the men. He doesn’t wait for them to fall to the ground before he wrenches it from their chest. He drops to a knee to catch another man in the gut at an angle. Lifting the spear and the man upward he uses his foot to push the man off his spear. Then he twists around and rams it into their side. He rips the spear back out and turns it in his grip. He stabs the man again, this time catching him in the gut and pushing upward. The man gargles blood and falls limp on Kylo’s shoulder. Kylo pulls the spear back and the man slumps to the ground.

He quickly jabs the second man he skewered in the throat to ensure he won’t get back up. Then he surveys the field. His men have felled most of the resistance. Only two or three are still exchanging blows. When all the of the offenders have fallen, they take a quick assessment of their people. Some are wounded, and one of their younger warriors is dead. But for the most part, they are well and healthy.

He looks up into the trees and pulls his lips to whistle, a similar call to the chirp from earlier. It is returned with a loud and resounding trill. Immediately he falls back into a fighting posture, yelling at his men and women to grab their shields.

“Arrows incoming,” He yells, and all warriors fall into line. Shields slide over shield creating a large wall. Arrows hit before they get everyone covered, and one of their women fall to the ground with an arrow in the eye. It smolders. Kylo curses.

“Fire arrows,” He announces and then starts to move his feet back in time with all his men. Having battled together so long they move as one unit.

“Back,” Sigard yells, and they continue backing up as arrows thunk against their shields. Kylo curses as one plunges in deep and scratches his cheek.

“Halt!” The back of the line yells, and immediately some of their unit detaches. The five or six men and women scurry up to the top of the building. One of them screams "shields" once they reach the top. They start stomping out the flames and try to stop the rain arrows before they reach the roof. At least that is what it looks like they are doing.

Three of these warriors are drawing their longbows and dipping their arrows in turpentine set them on fire. Sure enough, he sees the arrows of his men arch into the sky and descend on the second wave of resistance. Only it doesn't strike their enemies. The arrows land on the other side of the trench.

The arrows catch the fodder and turpentine at the foot of the second wave of the resistance, the other side of the trench that protects the village. The entire sky fills with flames. Screams pierce the air, and then there are bodies clambering over the fence covered in flames. The resistance fighters run across the yard at them with one goal in mind. If they are going to die they might as well take Hvall’s food stores with them. Or one of their warriors.

“Break formation!” Kylo yells, and his people break apart with roars and war cries spill from their lips. They meet the flaming resistance fighters head on.

It’s not easy to fight a person on fire. Trying not to get engulfed in flames proves difficult.

Kylo finds himself dodging more than attacking. He uses his spear to jab and then dances away so he does not get licked by the flames. The mud he has slathered over his clothing helps keep some of it at bay. He takes two down with this little dance. With his other men faring no better at least two or three of the resistance make it past them to the storage houses.  The warriors on the roof hit them with arrows, and two of them fall. But one of them continues, even though arrow after arrow pierces his skin. The massive person screams out a deadly cry, and Kylo’s blood runs cold. He knows that scream.

“A berserker!” He yells as he dodges another flaming body that is careening toward the storage houses.

He jabs them in the back with his spear and tries to wrench it out. But it is wedged in their ribcage and at this angle, he can’t pull it out. As he tries to twist it out, he feels the heat of another body at his back. He lets go of the spear and bends in half to avoid the sword that swings at his face. He turns his torso, pulling his ax from his side and grabbing the offenders arm. He brings the ax down with a howl. The fighter lets out a scream as Kylo rips the arm the rest of the way off their body and then flings it across the yard. With an enraged cry, he flips his grip on the ax and brings it down on the enemies skull, cracking it like an egg. Wrenching the ax from the offenders head he lets them fall to the ground. Brains spill onto the scorched ground.

He closes his eyes, calming the raging in his blood and feeling the field around him. When he opens his eyes, he sees the storage house engulfed in flames.

His warriors are descending from the rooftop and running from the flames. They join the rest of his men to stop what they can of the resistance fighters. Few are left, but the beserker is cutting through his people. He has felled one of them and injured at least four. Kylo pushes at Sigard’s shoulder.

“With me,” he hisses, and they cross the field.

Another flaming body comes flying at them, and this one has an ax poised. Sigard manages to slip in front of Kylo and deflect the blow with his spear and pushes the body backward. Kylo comes whirling around with his ax and just misses catching the person in the chin. He follows through and comes back around as Hrok slices downward with his sword. Together they hack and slice the body until it sputters out like the flames licking at its clothes.

They hear a cry, and see Luta fall to the ground, her hand grasping her arm. Blood is pouring down her shoulder. Hrok lets out a beastly growl and rushes at the berserker. He slashes at the man. The berserker backs up for a second, giving Hrok the chance to slide between him and Luta. Kylo and Sigard run up behind him and fall into position. A shieldmaiden grabs Luta and pulls her out of the way.

Berserkers are the most dangerous creatures on the battlefield. Only the greatest warriors are given such a title. And they are well known for their fearlessness in battle to the point they can’t feel pain. It takes years of practice and experience with battle meditation to reach the point you can't feel pain. His uncle had been a master of the craft as had his grandfather. Kylo has learned some of the skills but does not have the experience this man obviously does. He can see the flaming in his eyes, even as his flesh is peeling from bone and arrows jut out of his chest. But the man looks excited, gorged on the blood he has already spilled. Bloodlust pours off him.

“I didn’t know they had such skill,” He hears Sigard curse as he tries to roll out of the way of the berserker’s mace. He manages to keep from losing an arm.

Kylo didn’t either. His uncle had refused to pass on his teachings after Kylo had used them against his wishes. But this man is at least ten years older than him so perhaps he had another teacher.

And the man slices through them like they are butter. Hrok gets hit across the head with the mace, and he falls to the ground with a groan. Sigard goes next, feet swept out from under him and a slamming down of the mace on his arm fills the air with his scream. It's then that Kylo circles him, not letting the mace get within range. But it puts him at a disadvantage. Without his spear, it is hard to reach the man at this distance. His sword, while longer than most, is still not sufficient. He is going to have to get in close and somehow gut the man without getting pulverized.

He dodges another swing, feeling the swoosh of the air as it passes over his face. He rushes backward, and stumbles over a body he didn’t realize was there. Immediately he rolls to the side, narrowly avoiding the mace that lands on the ground beside him. Dirt flies up in his face. His eyes go wide and he jumps to his feet before the man can pull it from the ground and make another swing.

He doesn’t need to look around to see all the flames that are surrounding them. Heat is pressing in from all sides, and there are bodies littering the ground. Even if he survives this, which is looking questionable, he isn’t sure how many people he will have left. He hopes most of his people are still alive. He hadn’t brought them here to die.

He grunts as the man’s mace slams into his sword. Kylo puts enough power into the block that it makes the berserker stagger back. Despite the size of the man, Kylo is by far the bigger of the two, and size has its advantages. It provides Kylo with an opening, and he crosses into the man’s space with enough time to cut him from naval to hip. Blood springs forth, but so do flames and Kylo has to dance out of the way as the enraged man swings his mace at him. Kylo falls to a knee to avoid being hit and to see how much damage his attack has done. Not enough. He hadn’t cut deep enough.

And for a second Kylo sees the end as the man swings back his mace and lifts it to the heavens. He could dodge, but the only way to go would be into the flames behind him. And just as he is preparing to roll into the flames to avoid the mace, something unexpected happens.

The storage houses explode outward sending splintered wood and flaming thatch into the air. It catches them both off guard, and Kylo uses the opportunity to get out of range of the berserker.

He expects the man to fling his mace around, but nothing happens. Instead, the berserker stands there, his mace touching the ground in a relaxed posture as he stares at the storehouses. Kylo doesn’t think for a second - just acts. With a war cry, he lunges at the man, sliding his blade through his gut and then pulling it out. As the body falls to its knees he embeds the blade in his neck and the body falls to the ground. The head bounces across the ground. It's then that Kylo finally stands and looks around to see how they have fared.

And realizes he is the only one not rooted to the spot. Everyone, including the flaming bodies, has stopped. They are staring at the storehouses with a look awe on their faces.

Kylo turns to see what they are looking at and drops his sword.

_She will be flesh. She will be bone. She will be blood._ Maz’s words ring in his ears.

And his blood sings at the sight of her, even as she turns to him and pins him with her brown eyes.

The Valkyrie has arrived.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you enough for the kudos and support. <3 It makes writing this even more enjoyable.
> 
> So the fic decided to earn its rating earlier than I expected - and not really but kinda with our favorite couple. Poor Kylo. He just can’t catch a break, can he? Anyway, Rey has arrived. Now we will see what happens with her in the flesh. More torture for Kylo? Of course. Smut that actually involves our favorite couple? Slow burn, remember? Tortured sexual tension banter? Oh hell yes. Lots of that. ;)
> 
> Up next: Rey has a message for the resistance - bend the damn knee.


	5. Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has a message for the resistance - bend the damn knee.

 

The flames don’t touch her.

She is standing in the center of the smoldering storage house. Her wings are on full display and nothing hides her nudity. And she is drenched. There isn’t a bit of her that isn’t wet. Her hair is plastered to her head. Her skin glimmers. Her wings flick residue as she shakes them - like a newborn bird shucking the muck of the egg.

She hovers, her big toes scraping the floor as she takes a deep breath. Her head tips backward, toward the heavens. Her wings vibrate, and a piercing cry rends the air. But no one crouches to cover their ears or to turn away.

Then she tilts her head toward the earth.

A collective ripple of cries fills the battlefield, and Kylo feels his chest freeze.

It is not the beautiful face he has seen in his visions. The bone structure and the general shape are all there. But her eyes are gone. Her sockets are sunken into a black pit. As if the night has settled into her skull and decided to suck all the rest in with it. Her head whips back and forth between the bodies of the dead and living. And then she plants her feet on the smoldering debris, tucks her wings in against her back, and takes a step forward. As she does this, the black sockets of her eyes disappear, leaving a youthful face.

Now the only thing standing before them is a naked woman.

If it wasn’t for the power whipping around her she wouldn’t be any different from the rest of them.

As she crosses to the field, one of the resistance fighters falls to the ground at her feet - their charred skin flaking away and revealing bone. They let out a moan, and the valkyrie bends down. Her tiny hand closes over their face, tipping it up. With her other hand, she closes their eyes and presses her palm against their nose and mouth. Their hands reach up to grasp her arm as she cuts off their air supply. She hums and whispers foreign words into the air. Then they go still. She plucks from their chest a pale slither of a thread. A spirit. She tosses it to the sky, like a young girl releasing butterfly from a net. The spirit drifts upward toward the heavens.

She lets the body fall gently to the ground, gets back up, and starts to move again.

She does this to every fighter on the field that has fallen. To each of the dead or dying, she gives a prayer and then lifts their spirit from their chest to toss them to Valhalla. Not a person moves to stop her, but all eyes follow her as she continues this ritual. How long it takes, Kylo is not sure. He only knows he can’t move, he can’t say a word. All he can do is watch and wait.

Finally, she pauses at one body that is heaving and crying. It’s a young woman, though she is not severely burned like the rest. Rey does not end her suffering but instead reaches her hands under the wounded body and lifts it carefully from the ground. She carries the wounded warrior across the field and stops before Kylo.

“This one we should keep,” She whispers, and it is the first time he has heard her voice. It's warmer than he imagined, calm and sure. He doesn’t respond immediately, too shocked. When she lifts her head and an eyebrow at him, he manages to clear his throat.

“There is a house for prisoners,” The words tumble out of his mouth hoarse from the flames. Her lips curve upward and she shifts the girl’s body.

He realizes she expects him to show her where the prisoner will stay. So he shakes his head and puts his sword back in his scabbard. He glances at his troops, and at the watcher in the trees. No chirp. That must have been the last of them. Satisfied they won't receive another wave of resistance he motions for her to follow with a tilt of his head.

Even as they walk to the prison, he can’t help but peer over his shoulder at her. He has seen her too many times in his visions to not compare her flesh to that of his memories. Her skin is as dark as he remembers, and her eyes as brown. She is taller than he recalls, though, and her movements are sure. She keeps up with his large strides, whipping her head around to take in the sights of the village. Her eyes are wide with interest, and he can’t help but feel his heart sputter at the sight of her wonder. Has she never seen a village before?

They pause at the house, and Kylo opens the door to lets her pass through with the girl. She immediately drops her knees and rests her charge against one of the walls. Then she reaches for the shackles and clasps them about the girl’s ankles. She refrains from putting them on her hands.

“Why her?” He rasps, curious. Why would she save this one and not the others?

“It is not her time,” The Valkyrie responds, pressing her hands to the girl’s face, “And you will need her.”

“She will need care. Those wounds will not heal themselves,” Kylo adds, leaning against the doorframe. The Valkyrie doesn’t bother to look at him, instead, she continues to run her hands over the prisoner’s face. “I will see to her,” she says without pause. Then she gets up, laying the girl on the floor so she can rest, and comes to stand next to him at the door.

The last time they were this close was in a vision. Now she stands before him flesh and blood, and he can’t seem to keep his pulse under control. He knows part of it is from the battle. Bloodlust is setting in. It doesn't help that it takes all of his resolve to keep his eyes from dropping to her chest, or to her thighs. This woman has been invading his thoughts and dreams for days now. And he is at a loss for what to do or say now that she is before him. So close. Close enough to touch her.

“He didn’t tell me you would be so tall,” She whispers, tilting her head to the side like she is viewing a new specimen, “Or that you would have so much darkness in you.”

“By he, you mean Odin.”

“Who else,” She smiles, and then reaches a hand out to cup his face. He almost flinches back, afraid of what her touch would actually feel like. In his dreams, her lips felt like a hot brand and her touch like fire. Would it be the same in the flesh, or would it be more intense?

It is all of those things.

Tingles spread across his face as her little fingers stretch across his cheek and then run across his jawline. It is the whisper of a caress, not needy or sensual but simple and exploring. As if she is trying to map his face with her hand. Fingers flit across his lips and then over his nose up to his hairline and then through his hair. He can feel the blossoming of a blush across his cheeks, and he can’t seem to pull enough air into his lungs.

“You feel like any other,” She mutters, to herself, “I expected a mortal to feel…different. And not to be so dirty.”

She pulls her hands away then, her lips pursed. He flushes at the comment, but the distance allows him to catch his breath.

“First time seeing a mortal man?”

“First time touching one that isn’t dead or dyring,” She chuckles at the expression of shock on his face and brushes past him to leave the house.

“Does that frighten you, king?” She calls over her shoulder as she walks back toward the place of battle. He follows her, only pausing to throw down the latch so their prisoner can’t make an easy escape.

“I am very familiar with death, Valkyrie. No need to fear it.”

That makes her laugh, and it's a warm and tinkling laugh that burrows into his bones.

“You should. Death is not a pretty thing.”

“But the afterlife, that is,” He calls at her, meeting her pace with his strides. She comes up to his shoulder so she has to look up at him.

“If you play the game of life right, it is.”

“And if you don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“It is best if you follow the rules and don’t stray from the path. Listen to Odin. Eternity is a long time.”

He stops his questions, letting her move ahead of him and onto the field. Already his men are picking up bodies and laying them in carts to get them out of the village. When they see her, and him at her side, they give pause.

“Were there any other resistance survivors?” She turns to him and asks.

“Do we need them?” He asks, giving her a questioning look.

“I need to send a message. Odin demands it.”

A little sharp trill of fear and excitement races down his spine. It sounds ominous, but he is curious to see what this immortal creature made for war will do to send a message. He wonders if she will be as bloody and savage as him.

So he calls to his men, “Resistance survivors?”

It's Sigard that responds, pulling away from the group to cross the field to him. He keeps glancing at the Valkyrie, unsure what to think or even if he should look. When he comes to stand before them he shifts awkwardly on his feet.

“There were two others. One is severely wounded. The other has minor burns. He was one of the archers.”

“That is the one,” the girl hisses at him, her wide eyes looking up into his. She doesn’t give a command to Sigard, which surprises him. While she smiles at his men and women, it is obvious she will leave the commanding to him.

“Take the survivors to the prison. I would also like a report within the next two hours. Once all the bodies are buried and the wounded tended, please see everyone gets rest. We will meet in the longhouse after everyone has had a chance to catch their breath.”

Sigard nods and gives a little bow of the head to both of them before skirting away with a little relief to his step. Apparently having a Valkyrie makes his men skittish. Not that he blames them. Power radiates off her like a torch.

“Just what message does Odin wish to send?” He asks when Sigard is out of earshot and they are moving toward the longhouse.

She doesn’t look at him as the words pour from her mouth, “It is time to let the past die.”

——

When most things have settled, Kylo takes to his throne and prepares for the cleanup and reports. Hours have already passed, which his men and women have spent tending wounds and tending to the dead. Sigard has already relayed their losses. Three of their warriors and two farmers in training were lost. There are plenty of wounded, but none that will not survive. Even Sigard holds his arm close to his chest in a sling as he recounts their losses. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Hrok takes a seat at the table, looking worn with blood on his clothes. But there is a light to his eyes that lets him know Luta will be fine. Once most of his able warriors are in attendance, he motions for their cups to be topped off and prepares his words.

He doesn’t look to the Valkyrie that stands off to the side of the throne, though he can feel her as if she were an appendage. His warriors keep sneaking glances at her, still not sure what to make of the god’s gift. None of them have seen a valkyrie much less had one in such close proximity. They are divine creatures; not supposed to be glimpsed mortals.

Kylo wishes he had a chance to ask her all the questions that are bubbling under the surface of his mind. But there hasn’t been time. He has been getting reports and cleaning off the battle while she cared for the prisoner girl. He isn’t sure what to make of that, yet. He had expected her to cleave all their heads from their necks and then disappear into the sun. Instead, she is treating them with reverence and whispering calm words. Were it him they would all be butchered and their bodies sent back to Abeltoft as a sign. Apparently, she has other plans.

But now that his people are together, she has joined them and stands far off to his side. Somewhere along the line, and he suspects it is Maz's doing, she has procured a simple brown dress. And for that he is more than thankful. He doesn't think he could bear to sit before all of his men while trying to fight flushed cheeks.

At the back of the room, he can see Yri’s bright eyes flashing at the new visitor with curiosity.

“We will hold funerals tomorrow when the sun begins to set. Pyres are already set for our men?” Some of the warriors nod. “We will drink to their greatness. But there are things to discuss before we honor their deaths.”

He does turn to look at the Valkyrie then and raises an eyebrow. She steps forward, before them all. Even in her simple dress, she radiates light.

“I am Rey of the Valkyries. Sent by Odin to protect these lands. To protect your people. To protect your king,” She turns her head slightly to catch his eye before turning back to his men.

“Do not fear me, for I am of you and to be of you until the time comes for me to return home. Until Odin decides otherwise.”

His men and women turn to each other at the pause, awed whispers filling the room.

“And Odin has a message he wishes for me to send.”

It has that ominous ring to it again, and all fall deathly silent. They look to their king for assistance and Kylo waves at Tok. The man stands quickly.

“Bring us the archer for our valkyrie protector.”

Tok shuffles out of the room and grabs another to help him bring the warrior. The room remains silent until they return a few minutes later to place the archer at Rey’s feet. He is not tall or particularly strong looking, but his eyes hold a defiance that Kylo can admire. He is covered from head to foot in mud and soot, and some of his clothing is charred. There are burn marks across his torso, but otherwise, he appears well. A lucky man.

The man glances at Kylo, avoiding the gaze of the Valkyrie, “So who talks first? You talk first, I talk first?”

Yes, it is definitely defiance he sees in this man.

A twist pulls at his lips and Kylo turns his head to regard Rey. He then turns to look the man in the eye, “I don’t know. She is the one that asked we bring you to her.”

All the blood drains from the man’s face. He turns his head then and tips it back to look up at Rey. And then he gulps.

And to everyone’s shock, he speaks to the Valkyrie, “So, lady, I guess it’s on you to talk.”

There isn’t a sound to be heard in the longhouse except the sputtering of the fires.

He expects to see a display of power. To see wings unfurl and teeth bared at this man’s cockiness. To watch him pay a price for disrespecting a being of the gods. He expects to his head roll across the longhouse and his blood to decorate the walls. But none of these things happen. What does, he finds far more unsettling.

Rey’s mouth turns at the corner and her eyes seem to light up with humor. She places a hand on both of his shoulders and then kisses him on the forehead like she did Kylo in his dream. For a second Kylo grips the throne too hard, his fingernails cutting unto the wood of the armrest. It feels a little like a betrayal to see this creature he has dreamed of present another man with such an intimate gesture. He had thought it reserved for him.

She lifts her head, places a hand on his cheek and slides her fingers into his hair. Then she pulls back hard, baring his neck.

“Such a worthy warrior,” she coos at him, “But on the wrong side. Odin has a message for you, little leader. He has a message for all of your people. Go back home, to Abeltoft. Tell them what happened here. Tell them a Valkyrie has come to Hvall. And tell them Odin has spoken. You and your men are to join with Kylo Ren. You are to let the past die out and look to the future. For an enemy is coming, and you will need to be on the same side.”

She lets him go and he falls backward onto the floor with wide eyes. She lifts her chin, looking down her nose at him before stepping back to her spot off to Kylo's side.

The man looks back and forth between the Valkyrie and Kylo, shock clear across his face. Kylo pushes down his own surprise and leans forward on the throne.

“You heard the lady,” He mocks, “What will you do?”

It takes the man a moment to gain his voice, but when he does speak it is with acid, “We will not bend to you. Or to Snoke.”

Kylo grunts, “Then what is your name, resistance warrior?”

“Poe Dameron, though I hardly know what good it does you.”

A wicked snarl curls at his lips. He leans even further toward the man, “So that I may know the name of the man that defies the gods. So when they come for you I can laugh over your bones.”

The hall fills with howls of laughter and thunks of cups hitting the tables. He can even hear the tinkling laugh of the Valkyrie behind him.

“Take him to the edge of the village. Give him enough food to return home. We will fulfill our end of Odin’s wishes. Perhaps along the way you, too, will have a change of heart.”

He glares at the man as he is pulled from the floor and taken out of the longhouse.

“Our business for the night is done. Let us drink to our men, to the dead, to the gods, and to our victory. And,” he pauses, “To our new guest.”

All cups rise into the air toward Rey, and she dips her head in acknowledgment. When all the eyes fall away from them she lifts her head they hold each other’s gaze.

“Do you drink and eat?” He asks, not sure if valkyries can eat the food of men. Her brown eyes flash to the table and he can see hunger grow there. And delight.

“I am supposed to,” She replies, and doesn’t take her eyes off the food, “But I haven’t had human food before.”

The conversation must have been overhead because Hrok’s voice calls across the table.

“Then what are you waiting for, Rey the Valkyrie! Join us,” And Hrok slides over and pats a spot on the bench next to him, “Let it not be said we don’t treat our people well!” And he holds up his cup as all the other warriors do the same and take a deep gulp.

Rey turns to look at Kylo as if seeking his approval. When he nods, she runs across the hall to slide into place next to Hrok.

He spends the rest of the night trying to not look so obvious while he watches her eat. She inhales the food as if she has never had a belly to fill before. She guzzles ale and her laugh reaches the rafters as his warriors dazzle her with their stories. He watches as his people fall for her, each making a little more space for the girl with wings in the span of one night. How a creature they have never known has wedged her way into his family in the span of one night, he is not sure.

But he can’t look away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I can't express how thankful I am for all the notes, kudos, and bookmarks. Thank you for hanging in (despite no Rey for chapters) and all the feedback. It's been a long time since I really got back into the writing game so thank you for your support. <3 
> 
> So Rey is here and not exactly as expected. I pulled some ideas from the oldish sci-fi show, Lost Girl (which has a kickass valkyrie) for some of her powers/looks. And now that she has sent her message, I wonder how the resistance will respond? And what is with these captives? The plot is thickening a bit, but the next couple of chapters will be more Kylo and Rey getting to know each other. So prepare for some butt-kicking, humbling, and some tension. Now the fun can begin. 
> 
> Next Chapter Summary: Rey and Kylo cross weapons. He gets a scar.


	6. Humbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Kylo cross weapons. He gets a scar.

He finds her with the two prisoners the next morning, a bucket of water and rags at her feet while she presses herbs to their burnt skin. His men have found this behavior odd, though they haven’t said as much to him. In their stories, valkyries do not heal the wounded or give quarter to those that attacked them. But here she is, nursing them back to health like they hadn't just tried to burn down the people she has sworn to protect. It makes him curious. Does she have other intentions for these people? Do valkyries have more kindness than the stories tell? Will she switch sides at a moment’s notice and slip away to join them?

He doubts the last will happen. Something in the way the visions have portrayed her and the feeling he gets in his gut when he looks at her makes him trust she wouldn’t do such a thing. It would be dishonorable. And Valkyries are honorable creatures, even if they are creatures of war.

“I take it you enjoyed the human food, last night?” He asks, leaning against the door after watching her for some time.

“It is not the food of the gods, but I like the earthiness. Tastes like life,” She looks up at him with a warm smile before dipping a rag back into the bucket. She wrings it out and then presses it to the groaning man’s face on the floor. He is badly burnt, and his eyes are swollen shut.

“You settled right in. My men are no longer so skittish around you.”

“And they shouldn’t be. I bring them no harm so long as their hearts stay honorable. And they will. You have good men.”

“Many would disagree with that statement,” Kylo refutes.

“Many are fools in this world. They see things they can’t understand and they fear them.”

He raps his fingers against the boards of the prison and looks at the two enemies at his feet. Though they can’t speak, he can see the whisper of fear in their eyes at him. At the Valkyrie. Even as she presses healing rags and herbs to their skin, their bodies naturally try to pull away. She winces when they do.

“Yes, they are.” He whispers and pushes off the door.

“Maz tells me you will need a house and board. Forgive me for not setting you up earlier. I was unprepared for your needs.”

She laughs at that, “You didn’t think a Valkyrie would need a place to sleep? I suppose if you didn’t know I ate human food, why assume I would sleep as well?”

He flushes at that, and she wrinkles her nose. She is teasing him. It’s an odd feeling. Only his brethren ever do such a thing, and often they do it with care. He is a prickly man, and not always kind.

But why would she ever need to fear a man?

“I wasn’t sure you would stick around,” He offers in response.

“I’ll be around and by your side as long as it takes for Odin to be satisfied.”

“And how long will that be?”

She shrugs her shoulders, “A lifetime. A month. Only the All-Father knows.”

His heart sinks a little at the word month. Would that be all the time? Would she come back to help them?

“But he has great plans for you, Skywalker. I will be surprised if it is not for years.”

He lets that sink in, finding a bench to sit on as he watches her finish bathing their wounds. When she is done she pours the bucket out the door and wrings the rags. She places them in a corner, out of the prisoner’s reach. Then she looks to him and places her hands on her hips. It reminds him of some of the older women about to scold one of the children for dirtying their laundry or making mud pies in the gardens.

“We have work to do. Odin wants me to train you.”

Confusion crosses his face, and he looks up at her. Her. Train him? He isn’t even sure if she actually battles. He has only seen one weapon on her, and it looked ceremonial. And the most dangerous thing he has seen her do is wrench the resistance pilots head back last night in the longhouse. Of course, she is a Valkyrie, and he would be a fool to think she can’t fight. But she seems…green? As if she is new to all this. He has to stifle the laugh that wants to bubble up at this half-pint, winged girl taking him on.

“In what?” He manages to get out with a somewhat straight face. Her lips curl downward.

“In the way of the berserker,” She grumbles, “But perhaps we will start with humility.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, and it makes her glare intensify. His insides warm.

“I’ve never been a humble man, Rey. And I doubt you can beat it out of me. But you can try.”

Her eyes flash at the challenge and the air around them crackles with intensity as they stare each other down. The two prisoners shift, and one of them starts coughing uncontrollably. She breaks eye contact and turns back to her charges to get them some water. When their coughing has subsided, she turns to look at him over her shoulder.

“Set a time in your schedule and a place to meet, king. And then we will see if you can be humbled.”

He lets out a deep laugh, “Very well, midday when the sun is highest in the sky. That is when I train on my own. The hollow in the woods. You’ll have an hour.”

And then he gets up to slip out the door before she can say another word.

——

Midday doesn’t come soon enough. The rest of his morning is spent with Sigard counting their food stores and rebuilding what was damaged. His warriors have put down their weapons to join in helping their people, and the work is coming along slowly. Already he can feel a change in his new subjects. The combination of their survival of the first raid and the coming of a Valkyrie seems to have gained their trust in his ruling. They greet him more warmly, work harder than before, and even thank him with genuine smiles when he pauses to watch them work. If he had known one battle would sway their hearts he would have planned the raid himself.

He pauses at the storehouses that are being rebuilt. Scorch marks are still visible on the ground and charred wood is scattered about the square. But his men and people are already starting to tear down the remains of the building. By tomorrow they should have the foundations laid for the next one.

“How will our food do underneath the longhouse?” Kylo asks, looking to Sigard.

“It is damp, Ren, but it will hold until we get the house built. We won’t go hungry this winter.”

Kylo nods, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips. Tok had been right to suggest moving their food stores to the longhouse. The resistance wouldn’t want to see the hall of their beloved Luke vanish in flames, so hiding their food underneath it was a wise decision. Replacing the sacks of grain and dried meats with dirt from the trenches, well that had been an even better idea. Letting the scouts think there was actually food there, and that it all burned could save them a lot of trouble in the future.

Even as they move through the rest of the village, pausing to check in with their people and to assess the damage, he can’t help but want time to speed up. The battle is still coursing through is veins, and he hasn’t had a chance to let it out. Patience has never been one of his virtues. And the thought of battling her, the girl, makes it even harder to not take off and leave Sigard to the cleanup.

But a king has duties. He opted for this throne, and he needs to ensure he keeps it. For his sake and for his people.

Eventually, they are done, and they retire to the longhouse for some food and water. The sun is almost to the crux in the sky so Sigard leaves him with a pat on the shoulder; knowing well he likes to train on his own when the sun is highest.

His other men don’t even glance up when he puts down his water and food and leaves for his chambers. 

From the hook, he takes his belt with an ax and slides it over his hips. His sword he grabs from its rest and slides it into the scabbard. He takes his spare spear, the other still wedged in a man’s chest buried in the woods, and his shield. Then he makes the trek up the hillside and into the woods.

There is a tiny little hollow that he has claimed for himself since taking back Hvall. It’s the same place he would run to as a child and practice when his uncle was not looking, and time has not changed it much. He leans his spear against the great oak at the center, and pulls his hair up into a bun and wraps it with a leather band. He glances up when he hears the crunching of leaves. A moment later Rey appears.

She has changed her clothes. Instead of her simple brown dress, she wears leather training gear. Her brown hair is pulled back into a row of three buns. She has wrapped fabric around her arms and legs. She has a spear slung over one shoulder. In her hand, she is holding a small battle ax. 

Rey cocks her hip to the side and tilts her head at him, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“Already feeling a bit humbled?”

Gods, no. He thinks before he can silence the thought. He doesn’t think he has ever seen anything as majestic as she appears then. And he feels everything but humble. He wants to slam her to the dirt, hear her gasp, feel her struggle. He pulls his lips into a shit-eating grin.

“Hardly, little Valkyrie.”

“Good,” She growls and flips the ax in her hand to reverse her grip, “Because I was really looking forward to beating you into submission.”

And then she attacks.

He has just enough time to grab his spear before she is bearing down on him with her ax. He catches it, even as she pushes all her weight. The wood of the spear moans under the force of her weight. Stronger than she looks. Much stronger. He notes. She pulls back then, skitters a few feet away. Just out of range of the spear. He swings it around so it is behind his back and falls into a defensive position. Legs bowed and out for support. Hand at the hip resting on his sword hilt. Spear ready to swing.

She comes again, this time whipping the spear around in an arch. He swings his own spear out, preparing to block her attack and just manages to dodge the ax she sends flying past his head. He bends to avoid it, and it lodges in the tree behind him with a thunk. She is on him again, this time both of her hands on her spear. She hits with will a volley of short, sweeping attacks that he blocks. She grins each time their spears meet. When she tries to bring down her spear to force his downward, he quickly uses his power to push up suddenly. It catches her off guard, and she takes a step back just as the blunt end of his spear catches her under the chin.

She staggers back and lifts a finger to her mouth. There is blood.

Is this what a Valkyrie is made of? He thinks. And he finds he is disappointed. Just a few minutes in and he has already drawn first blood. How is she to teach him anything if this is all she has to offer?

But she is looking at it confused, as if she hasn’t seen blood before. She presses her finger against her lip again and then looks at him with her brow knit.

It is almost like she has not bled before.

Then she is smiling, all teeth caked in blood and lips red with it. She spits a mass of blood but doesn’t take her eyes off his. He can see the glee that is burning in her eyes.

She falls into a similar stance as the one he took earlier, spear behind her back and ready. 

“Been a while since I bled. Forgot what it felt like,” She hisses, and then rushes at him again.

They clash again and again, neither winning the upper hand. They dance through the woods, spears knocking against each other with such force it echoes through the hollow. He quickly learns that she is aggressive. She likes to start the fight and to press her advantage. She lets out roars and growls as she attacks, feral and savage. He has never met another that fights like her, that fights like he does when he is unencumbered. Never met another that has less practice with patience than he for battle. She wants blood. Any blood. Hers, his. The earth. She tries to rip it all to shreds and does it with fire in her eyes.

And he realizes he could win this. He could defeat a Valkyrie because he is learning she is new to this. She is green. Odin has sent him a baby of a Valkyrie that has fallen into waters far beyond her depths. Perhaps in Valhalla, she was good. Perhaps not. But here, here she has too much to learn. She needs experience, needs more battles to defeat him. 

And as she presses her spear against him again, pressing harder and harder until their faces are just inches apart, he realizes he doesn’t mind. She has promise. She has potential. She can be so much. He can make her into so much.

“You are young. You don’t know what you are doing,” He presses back, his breath fanning over her face. He can see the sweat dripping from her brow, the concentration, and heat in her eyes.

She looks pissed as he says these words.

“But I can help you,” He whispers, eyes wide and pleading, “I can teach you how to read a battle.”

Something crosses her eyes then, a realization of some sort. As if something has just snapped back into place. Her eyes close for the briefest of moments, and he realizes too late what she is doing. She is calling on the battle magic. She is summoning the will of the gods.

When her eyes spring back open, they are different. Calmer. Deadly.

With renewed vigor, she flips the blunt end of her spear into his gut and uses his reaction to flick his spear out of his hand. It falls to the side and he quickly reaches for his sword. It rings as he pulls it from the scabbard, and he just manages to block it as she swings at him. She pulls back with the spear, avoiding the wide arch of his sword and then jabs him in the shoulder with the spearhead. It slices through his shirt and blood bubbles up. He doesn’t have time to assess the wound, because she is back on him. Raining down blow after blow, and anticipating his every move. All he can do is block the onslaught, and she has him backing into the woods. He is on the defense and he can’t find an opening to reverse the situation.

It’s a shock to his system.

He has never been in this position before; never been so clearly at another’s mercy. In battle, sure he has come close to losing his life. He wouldn’t be the warrior he is not if he hadn’t. But this is different. This is someone stronger, more powerful, more destined than he. It’s the power of a demigod.

A young, green, untested demigod.

He tries to bring his sword around and down, to force her to back off him. But she grabs his arm and pushes back, forcing his blade into the ground. Her spear is twisting down toward his head, and he tries to push it back. But it’s too much. His arm gives, and his sword clatters out of the way. He lets her arm go. She swings around with the spear, cutting him across the chest, shoulder, and then across his jaw and over his eye.

He falls. Splayed out on the ground, eyes wide and blood pouring down his face. He can taste the metallic bitterness of it on his tongue. Smell it in the air. But he can’t get up - stares at her in shock.

Like she is the sun itself and he is just seeing it for the first time.

She hovers over him, eyes still so full of heat. He has seen the look before in some men that are wild with battle. It’s the eyes of a mad berserker. One so far gone they can’t tell friend from foe. Is she going to stab him now? Take his life and lift him to Valhalla? The juxtaposition of bloodlust and clarity in her eyes makes him believe she will. She is going to cut him down.

Then she drops the spear and steps away, the darkness of her eyes disappearing and the warmth returns.

“Think you still need to teach me?” She growls at him. Her chin his held high and he thinks he can see the sun rays bending to coat her in light.

“No,” He whispers.

“Are you humbled, then?”

“Yes,” His voice is so low, so hoarse.

“Good.”

And then she holds out a hand. He takes it, letting her pull him up. But she doesn’t pull away as he reaches full height. Instead, she steps in closer, her nose nearly touching his chest. Her wide brown eyes look up at him, and he is reminded of a baby bird looking at the creature it has imprinted on.

Her hands reach up, just touching the wound on his face. She pulls away when he winces and lets her hand fall to the side.

“I didn’t mean to cut so deep,” She whispers, and she looks pained. “I’m not supposed to hurt you. Or any one of your people.”

“I asked for it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” She turns her head down, then, and he thinks he can see shame on her face. And fear. But it is so fleeting he isn’t sure he really saw it. Her head snaps back up, and that smirk is back on her face.

“But it was worth it, to wipe that smug grin off your face.”

“More like cut it off my face,” But he says it more with awe than anger, and she laughs.

“You’ll need to see that tended to. I have some herbs you can put on it.”

“You won’t clean it for me? You’ll just cut me up and then leave me wounded to care for myself?” He winces as his smirk causes his wound move and pain flashes across his vision. Blood has already started pouring down his brow, and he can’t see through the one eye.

“Like you said, you asked for it. You clean it up. I’m not a healer.”

If he wasn’t half delirious with blood loss he would ask why she was healing the two prisoners then. But instead of getting the words out, the world tilts and goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all so much for the love and kudos! <3
> 
> So apparently Rey decides to make him eat a piece of humble pie. Wonder how long that will last? ;) Up next will be some more interactions between them as they start to figure each other out. 
> 
> Up Next: Kylo learns Valkyries are good at tending to the dead but not the living. The identities of her two prisoners become known and her intentions for them.
> 
> Heads up, I usually post twice a week. Usually Thursdays and then on the weekend. I'll probably start posting a bit more with summer around the corner.


	7. Pessimist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo is healing, being broody, accepting agreements he never wanted to make, and making Rey angry. All in the span of a day.

“The girl got you good,” Maz coos as he wakes confusion at the sight of her. The last he remembers is being in the woods with Rey and feeling a little bit woozy. He grunts, running a hand through his hair as he realizes he passed out. How the hell had he gotten back? Did Rey get some of his men? He sits up, his head spinning from the effort, and the volva chides him while pushing him back onto his pallet.

“Not a good idea. You still need to rest.”

“How did I get here?”

A wry smile tugs at Maz’s lips. She grabs a rag and dabs at his head. “The Valkyrie carried you back to camp. On her back.”

He flushes, and its not from the wound. He isn’t surprised she could do it. He fell under her strength. But the sight of it, the little beanpole of a girl carrying him on her back? She must have looked about to snap. How many of his warriors saw? How much ribbing will he suffer once he was well enough to join his men? The scar he can bare with pride as the mark of a Valkyrie. But her carrying him after passing out?

As if reading his thoughts, Maz laughs, “Yeah, I would have given a finger to have seen it. Too bad they didn’t call me until after Rey dumped you on your pallet and called for help.”

If Maz was already heckling him, it was going to be rough. He lets the tension fade from his body as he succumbs to the thought.

“How long have I been out?” He turns his head, trying to think of what he needs to take care of. Was it a day? A week?

“Just a few hours. The Valkyrie had the mind to place some burdoch mash on your wounds. It kept the fever at bay.”

So not too long. He lets out a great sigh. At least it had only been a few hours. “And my recovery?”

“You should be up and about in a day. Can’t move your face much for a week, or you’ll pull the stitches.”

He isn’t worried about that, but he knows bloodloss is nothing to ignore. He’ll need to rest, eat and recover. The last thing he needs is to pass out again with another battle with Abeltoft possibly on the horizon.

“And how is, everything?”

“Things haven’t gone to shit in the four hours you were out if that is what you are asking.”

Kylo purses his lips at her casualness around him. “Yeah, that's what I was asking.”

“You honestly think everything would go belly up because you took a little nap? Your friends weren’t kidding when they said you were a pessimistic thing.”

“Tends to happen when bad things happen to you.”

Maz snorts and pushes some of his hair back from his face. “Keeps you from recognizing the good things when they happen, too.”

And then he falls into another sleep, her calming hums lulling.

———

He wakes a few times in the night. Sometimes it is to see Yri bending over him dressing and cleaning his wounds or sleeping beside him on the pallet. Sometimes he wakes to Maz checking his vitals and humming in his ears. Others come and go as he drifts in an out of a healing daze. He wakes without daze when the sun is low in the sky, light streaming through the cracks in the thatch and wood.

“You don’t look so green.”

Her words are soft and without a teasing bite. He turns his head, looking for Rey until he finally spots her sitting on Yri’s trunk in the corner. She has hands on her knees and her chin is resting on one of her hands. She is staring at him with concerned eyes. There is a little bowl of a mashed green herb at her feet, and he remembers Maz saying something about her treating his wounds. Based on the smell and the feel of his face, she has just finished applying a fresh treatment.

He tries to bite out a response, but all that comes out is a croak. And then a series of coughs. Then she is at his side, with a cup of water and she is sliding a hand under his neck to help him sit up. She holds the cup as he gulps down the water until there is nothing left. Then he coughs, sputtering. But his throat feels better, and when he tries to talk this time it is with a little rasp.

“Thanks,” He whispers hoarsely as she helps him lean back onto the pallet. He expects her to sit back on the trunk, allowing more distance, but she stays seated on the pallet as if she belongs there. Perhaps the social graces of mortals are not something she understands. Personal space appears to be a foreign concept - at least when it comes to him. Everyone else she seems to give a wide berth.

“Do you need some more? Or would you like some broth? Yri said broth would be all you could keep down until you feel better. It is still warm.”

She reaches for a bowl on the bedside table, but he grabs her wrist to stop her. She pulls her hand back and stares at him with wide eyes. Her cheeks go pink, and she looks off the side. It reminds him of the moment in the woods when she seemed afraid, worried after harming him in battle.

“Sorry, I thought you’d like some.”

And she is staring at the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Everywhere but him. For a second he thinks its because of his face. She doesn’t want to see the damage she has inflicted, the scar. But she is wringing her hands and sucking in her cheeks as if trying to figure out what to do. And he realizes this is the problem - she is out of her element. Her words ring through his head, I’m not a healer.

“I don’t feel like any, at the moment. Maybe later.” He says softly, not sure why he feels he needs to tread carefully here. As if he is trying to stare a young doe in the face that could scamper off in a second.

“But thank you.”

She looks at him after his soft words, “You should thank Yri. She made the broth.”

He nods, not sure why it makes his heart constrict like he has done something wrong when hearing Yri’s name come out of Rey’s mouth. Then again, everything with Yri anymore makes him feel guilty. He decides to change the topic.

“You said you needed to train me in the art of the berserker.”

“Well not until you are healed. But yes.”

“I know parts about the skill. My uncle trained me when I was younger, and Snoke picked up after I left Hvall. I thought I already had a good grasp."

She shakes her head, “Your training is incomplete. Luke taught you what he believed was acceptable. Snoke has taught you another half. But together they are still not the whole.”

“Is that why Odin sent you here - to teach me the proper way of the Berserker?”

She settles a little more onto the pallet and her eyes fill with a light that he remembers from their battle - excitement. This is far more her element than healing.

“Do you know the origin of the Berserker skill?”

He has heard stories. But he doubts any of them are real. His uncle would tell stories of ancient kings and warriors that listened to the earth and pulled from its power to rule and create a just kingdom. Snoke likes to tell of men of smoke that came from the mountains and taught the rulers how to contain the beasts of the wild and harness them into a warrior’s power never before seen. He always assumed it was an amalgamation of the two.

“Only stories,” He responds, curious to see what a Valkyrie would say about the berserker skill.

She goes to open her mouth, to tell him something of the mystical skill all Norsemen dreamed of mastering.

But they are interrupted.

The door to his chambers pulls back, and Sigard is standing in the doorway with a clenched jaw. Not a good sign.

“Lord Ren, I am sorry to bother you while you are healing,” Sigard’s eyes flick over to Rey on the bed, and he quirks an eyebrow before shaking his head and continuing, “But there is a messenger from Abeltoft. It might be best if you are present for the message.” Then he pauses, “And you, too, Valkyrie.”

For Sigard to interrupt his healing, it must be important. So Kylo does not dismiss him. Instead, he starts trying to push himself up off the bed. It tugs his wounds, and he feels a few of the sutures pop. But the glossy green paste stays put.

Immediately there are hands on his back and arms, and he realizes Rey and Sigard are both trying to help him to his feet. Sigard is pushing away the blankets, and Rey has inserted herself behind him. She is pushing him up as he tries to flip his legs over the side of the bed. Eventually, they get him up and dressed enough to see the messenger. He knows he looks like hell, still drugged on blood loss and exhaustion. But he has no choice. Perhaps the new scar will make them balk.

They manage to get him to his throne, and somewhat comfortable. He grunts as he settles, and Rey lets go of his shoulders, letting him gently fall back to the back of the chair. She runs a hand over his face, checking for fever and then she cleans off a little of the herb mash that has migrated across his face. He closes his eyes as she works to make him a little more presentable, and then she pulls away and a he feels a little colder than he did a moment before. He can feel her settle in the place to his side, the place she has claimed as her spot. Then he opens his eyes and nods at Sigard.

The messenger is a young boy in the upper parts of his teen years. His blonde hair is pulled back in a series of thick braids. Already he is branded with the tattoo of his homeland. Abeltoft and it's wolves. Even though he is young, the boy walks forward with a purpose and comes to stand before Ren with wide eyes. He dips his head.

“My lord, I have a message from Abeltoft.”

Ren nods, opening the floor for the boy to speak.

The boy straightens and presses down the wrinkles to his clothing. His eyes flicker between the three of them before they finally land on Rey and his cheeks turn red. His mouth falls open in a little ‘o’. Even this little straggler of a resistance boy can sense the power and wonderment of a Valkyrie.

Kylo clears his throat, making the boy whip his head away from Rey. The blush on his cheeks intensifies, this time from embarrassment.

“Sorry, we had heard of the Valkyrie. It is hard to believe,” The boy offers an apology, and Kylo can see the jerk to the boy’s jaw as he fights the desire to look at the Valkyrie again.

“We, too, are adjusting,” Kylo offers, and he can feel Rey’s eyes bore into the side of his face, a little quirk to her lips that he feels more than sees. “You said you had news, messenger. Let us hear it.”

Kylo prepares himself for the possible answers. Have they decided to follow the command of the Valkyrie and join his cause? Have they denied it? What does come out is not at all what he expected.

“Our leaders have considered the valkyries demand, and we must deny pleading sovereignty to Hvall. Yet, you have two prisoners that Abeltoft would like to negotiate terms of release. We would like to send a representative party in four days to create an agreement that may work to both parties advantage.”

Kylo doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he continues to stare at the messenger, his face devoid of any emotion while he ponders his response. They had turned down the offer and negations were not something one asked for after turning down a more powerful entity. And then to do it for captured criminals. They must be important.

“I will consider the offer if you tell me about these two prisoners. What are their names? What do they do? Why do your leaders want them back?”

The messenger looks relieved that he isn’t about to lose his head, at least not yet. But he shuffles on his feet trying to decide how to respond. He takes a deep breath and decides to go with the truth. After his eyes flick to the Valkyrie as if his lying will cause her to strike out. Which it might.

“The woman’s name is Rose. She is a new fighter. Wasn’t even supposed to be on the ground, but her sister was killed when you took Hvall and she wanted retribution. She was born in our village. We would like to see her returned.”

That can’t be all there is to it. A new fighter would not be someone they would want back. And what did she do before she decided to defend her sister’s honor?

“And the man?” He asks, prompting the messenger to continue.

“It is her intended, Finn. He was not born in the village but joined us not long ago to help with some of the farming. He was a smuggler looking for a better life, and he has information important to our leader about food rations.”

Oh, Kylo doubts that. He could care less if the two prisoners survive, but he senses Rey does care. And if Abeltoft is that willing to retrieve their fighters, it means they must be important. More important than they want him to believe. He tilts his head toward her, and she leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Say yes,” she whispers, “Perhaps then we can sway these negotiations to the cause.”

“Or we could just kill the prisoners now, dismiss the negations, and send this messenger back with their heads,” He offers instead. She pulls back then, her eyes flashing. She does not like that idea. She shakes her head, and he swears he can see thunderstorms in her eyes. He chuckles before turning his head to Sigard.

“I don’t know what the Valkyrie suggests, but it would be wise to accept the party. We can see what they offer. It could be worthwhile. Or we could just gain information. Then we can kill the prisoners.”

He likes that idea a lot, though he would rather skip the offer of negotiations. Why not kill them all now and be done with it? Negotiations were always his weakness. He has always been a warrior, not a politician. But both advisors generally seem to be of the same mind.

“Very well, we will accept the offer of negotiations for the two prisoners. In four days time, we expect to meet your representatives at the gate. They are not to bring any weapons inside our gates or show any sign of aggression. If they can do that, we will refrain, too.”

The messenger nods, bows and then takes off after stealing one last glance at the Valkyrie. Kylo can’t help but smirk. At least he isn’t the only person on the earth that seems a bit taken by her.

Once the boy is gone he lets out a sigh of relief and slumps down into the chair. He could fall asleep here. Wouldn’t matter one bit. But then the Valkyrie has her hands on him again, not so gently pushing him up from his seat and half into Sigard’s side. Now all three of them are stumbling to his room, trying to get him onto his pallet in a comfortable position. Sigard takes his leave once he sees Kylo is safely back in his bed.

But Rey hovers. She stands over the pallet, shifting in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable.

“What is it?” He manages to croak out. Already he is feeling the tug of sleep at his lids.

“Thank you,” She whispers, and then more boldly, “For the prisoners. For letting me tend them and prepare them. I know I haven’t explained their role, and I am sorry it puts stress on you, but they are important.”

He sighs, “I figured if the Resistance decided to negotiate for their return. Do they possess important information? Do we need to question them?”

Rey shakes her head vehemently, “Nothing like that. It is their skill set. You’ll need them to help you rebuild, and to make your armies.”

“And what exactly can they do that will be that helpful to us? And if so, why are we negotiating instead of forcing them to join us?’

He feels the pallet dip and feels the brush of her leg against his. Her voice is still low, even as she bends over to help rearrange some of his pillows. Then she pushes some of his hair out of his face.

“One works metal, and the other, well, he knows Snoke’s domain better than any other soul in the lower reaches.”

Suddenly the words of the messenger about the Finn fellow make sense. A smuggler, no. A runaway, yes. “He is a runaway from the upper reaches?”

Rey nods, meeting his eyes with a steel to her gaze. She had not expected him to take that news well. And he doesn’t. He starts trying to sit up again, and he is only a few inches from her face as he holds her gaze. Anger flares from his pores.

“Why are we harboring a traitor?” He hisses, pressing his face closer to hers. The room feels so heavy.

“Because he isn’t the real traitor to his people,” She replies back, her chin held high, “Snoke is.”

He sucks in his breath, eyes slit. Isn't she here to support him? To make him and his people stronger? He had thought that meant she would support his sovereign, that she would agree with Snoke. Apparently, she has more in common with the traitors in the tent than she has with him.

Wet, hot pulsing anger surges through him. Suddenly his hand is out, and he tries to grasp her neck. What did Odin intend for him? Was he trying to turn him back on the path of his uncle? Trying to turn him from his true path?

But she is faster, especially in his weakened state. And she grabs his wrist and bends it back before he even gets an inch from her throat. He hears bones grind, a sickly sound, until she has it pent to the bed. But he doesn’t wince or look away from her gaze. She shifts for better purchase, one knee on either side of his chest. Rising above him on the pallet, enough that her head looms over his by a couple of inches. One of her hands snakes around his back to lift him off the pillows. He is close enough he can feel the heat radiating from her chest, the sputtering of her heart.

He is hit with a memory from a few nights ago when he had taken Yri in this same bed and imagined her to be this woman. He had refused to lift his head from Yri’s breast for fear of seeing Rey moving above him, arching against him. He flushes, and his other hand almost flies up to her hip, the memory bleeding into reality.

But the look in her eyes stops him dead. She looks as if she would snap him for even trying. As if she wants to roast him alive.

“Don’t ever do that again, Lord Ren.” She hisses. She lets his wrist go and pulls the hand up to run over the crust of the herbs on his wound. Her eyes have gone hollow like they were the moment she descended from the heavens. Blackness has filled her sockets, the night set in. Huge pits of darkness that he can’t bear to look away from.

“I may have been sent to serve you, but that doesn’t mean you can take what you want. Even if it is my life.”

His head tilts on its own violation - bespelled. Compelled by her words, and he can’t do a thing but nod at her.

“Good, mortal. Don’t forget who gave you that scar, who opened your face,” She hisses and gives a light pat to his wound.

His mouth has gone slack, and he knows that he will give her anything she asks at this moment. She could steal his soul and he would be compelled to love it. And hate himself for being so weak at the same time. So mortal.

The blackness fades from her face and the warmth of her earthy browns swirl back into place. But she doesn’t let go. Her hand still presses to his back and he knows he will surely fall back to his pallet should she let go. With her other hand, she traces the planes of his face. Then she presses a kiss to his brow that is so searing he feels all his circulation leave his torso and pool in his thighs.

“Snoke is not what you think,” She says sadness and compassion filling her eyes, “You are strong enough without him.”

Is he though? He wonders.

Where would he be without his sovereign? She wouldn't be here, a gift for a great warrior and leader if Snoke had not made him a pupil. Before he was but a surly, gangly boy that could only rage at the world and the gods. Hiss at the power of his ancestors.

But Snoke had tempered his faults, rebuilt them and made him more whole. No longer is he a boy just playing at ruling. And he has a compass, a being that gives him direction - that inspires his dalliances with violence. One that lets him devour and crave without impunity. Snoke is his god above all gods.

He looks into the eyes of this savage, beautiful creature that is looming over him. All this fire and power at her tips, and yet she too is chained to the expectations of another. She too has a master that gives her biddings.

“You think me different from you? You think I could turn away from my master? What of you and Odin? Could you turn away from him, betray him if another god said he was the real traitor to his people?”

All the power in her fluctuates, sputters, and he is falling back onto the pallet with her still above him staring down at his blasphemous mouth.

She had cursed Snoke, so he would curse her master, too.

“Odin is the All-Father. He is the rules,” She mutters, confusion wrenching across her face. And then she is pushing herself off him. “It is different. Snoke is no god, merely a man playing at one.”

He studies her as she grabs her bowl of dried greens and makes to leave the tent, stricken and stunned by his words, “I don’t understand why Odin chose you when you defy him at every turn.”

He grunts, lifting his head so he can see her at the door, “Perhaps because he has done nothing but curse me.”

She stares at him, mouth pinched and he can see the color in her cheeks. The anger that is flowing over her in waves, “And you consider me a curse?”

A silence fills the air as he thinks of his response. Yes, because she has infiltrated all of his thoughts in just a matter of days. Cursed him with a fever for her. If given long enough, to quench that fever, will he forsake Snoke? Or is it a no? She has saved his people, cared for him, pressed the edge of her spear to his throat like none before her. More than an equal. Something divine.

“I’m not sure, yet.”

She whips around to the door so fast and leaves in a blur he isn’t even sure she actually moved. But she is gone, and all he has is the flickering candle lights and the crust of the green paste clinging to his skin to remind him she was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, thank you for all the kudos, comments, and notes! I can't say it enough. They give me that little extra push (hell more than that) when the words are fighting me. There is no better motivation than knowing someone took the time to drop a note/kudo/bookmark. <3
> 
> So now we are starting to get some powerplays. I wonder who will dominate? It seems like Rey has the upper hand, so far. Hope you are enjoying some of the 'bonding' (if you can call it that) between the two of them. And how will Kylo's devotion to Snoke cause them trouble? Up next, Han comes into town with the intention of saving his son's soul. We all know how that will end - at the pointy end of a sword. But how will Rey take it and what consequences will follow?
> 
> Up next: Han pays a visit and gets stabbed with the pointy end. How unexpected.


	8. Mortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo learns a little bit about Rey’s origins and of the one rule imposed on the bond between Valkyrie and Warrior.

 

The daze from the medicine lifts the next day, and he manages to stagger around the village with some propriety. Everything is running as smooth as it can considering the circumstances. Eventually, he settles against the gate to watch his people flutter about the village fixing and preparing for the winter. The air is turning crisp as the winter winds start to settle in for the autumn. The trees rustle with it. But beyond the chatter of his people and the whistling of the trees he can hear another sound. Sounds from in the woods, breathy hisses and cries of practice. And after listening to Rey run through her forms for a solid twenty minutes, he finally gives into that little urge that has nestled in his chest. It tugs him into her orbit. His ears always listen for her. His mind wonders to thoughts about her. And he still isn’t sure if its a trick of the gods or a strange connection between them, because she too seems naturally drawn toward him.

Perhaps Odin imprints his valkyries on their charges? But that wouldn’t explain his compulsion.

He takes his time walking through the woods where they last crossed weapons - where she gave him this scar. He is in no rush to encounter her after their words last night; that coupled with his still healing wounds slows him down. She will likely want an apology and he has none to give.

And he doesn’t know where that leaves a valkyrie promised to serve both him and Odin when he isn’t aligned with the greatest of the gods.

How do you make decisions together, fight together, when you are on different sides?

She is a little ways from a large ash making a series of blows on an invisible target with her spear. Her hair is plastered to her sweating brow, and her braids have come undone from the efforts of her movements. She doesn’t make any sign of acknowledgment, so he finds a nice tree to lean against and lets his eyes drift over her. He has never seen another move like she does - almost like water. She dips in, and then recedes, preparing for another volley of attack. And she never retreats for long before she is back to the offensive, landing blow after blow. He remembers this little dance from the day before. Though she shows no sign of the berserker skill that allowed her to slice his face in half, he has no doubt this little display is deadly. She could decapitate an unaware man with a simple flick of that spear. He knows it, having withstood her powerful force in person.

When she finishes this display, she rests the spear across her shoulders and hangs her arms over the pole. Then turns toward him. He expects to see a creased brow or pouting lip, but instead, there is a radiant smile.

“Come for your first lesson, King?” She taunts and even leans down a little to thumb her finger at him with a wicked grin on her face.

He pushes off the tree, keeping his face as immobile as possible.

“And here I was told to stay on bedrest.”

“You don’t appear to be in bed.”

A smile tugs at his lips, even though he tries to fight it. It sends a course of pain through his stitching, and he has to bite back a wince.

“No, but this is all Maz would grant me. If I did more, she would refuse to heal me, and then it really would keep us from my training.”

She lets out a little huff, and shuffles her feet, looking up through her hair at him, “Well, that's if you still want a lesson. After what you said last night, I’m not even sure I should teach you.”

Of course, she was going to bring it up. He had hoped to avoid the topic - at least until negotiations with Abeltoft concluded. Something about having a valkyrie backing your moves makes other men bow so much easier. He takes a deep breath.

“I don’t see our beliefs as mutually exclusive. And I do have some residual anger toward your master. He hasn’t always been the kindest to my family.”

She tilts her head to the side and runs her eyes from the tip of his feet all the way to the tip of his head, taking her time to rove over his form. Were he a bit younger he might have blushed. Then she clicks her tongue.

“You think of these gifts as a curse. They are not so. How many men wish they were in your position? How many wish to know and perform the secrets of the berserker? Odin doesn’t give a Valkyrie to any warrior, he gives them to those with potential. Those with gifts. Those that can be great. Yes, he was cruel, but you wouldn’t be one of the strongest men if not for all those trials and tribulations.”

He takes in her words, storing them to mull over later when the candles have burnt out and darkness feeds him to his demons until dawn.

“And how about you, Rey? What do you get out of this? And how did you come to be assigned to me?”

“I get eternal life in Valhalla. I get my master’s blessing. I get to do more than serve warriors drinks.”

“Is that how it works? You start off tending to the warriors and then one day you get an assignment and can work your way up?”

“Of the sort.”

He contemplates this, something not sitting right, “But I always thought Valkyries were born when all the other creatures were? There were a set number, all of the same age and the same amount of experience. How have you not worked your way up now?”

“Only some of the Valkyries were born when all others were new. Others, like myself, are chosen to be reborn by the grace of Odin. He takes our mortal bodies and lays us at the feet of the great tree with a single feather. A day later we are reborn from ash and flames.”

That tidbit of information surprises him. She was mortal once? Already lived and died? Given a second life by Odin as a Valkyrie?

“You were once mortal?”

She kicks at some leaves on the ground, a quirk to her eyebrow as she looks at him. She manages a shrug.

“Once. It feels like forever ago, and its a bit muddled.”

“Tell me about it,” He says, curious, and makes a move to have a seat on the ground. He should head back to the village for a quick nap before meeting with his men about the negotiations with Abeltoft, but hearing her story seems far more interesting.

For a second he thinks she will, and then she shakes her head and twists her spear off her shoulders, “Not today.” Pause, “But maybe another.”

A shadow has passed over her face as if talking about her mortal past has dredged up some horrors only she can see. So he doesn’t push anymore, even as she falls into more forms this time with more anger and determination. He recognizes the need to fall into practice to forget, and he almost leaves her to the peaceful inebriation of physical numbness. But he can’t help but ask the next question.

“Why you?”

That stops her short as she twirls around to face him.

“What?” She calls, though he knows she heard him correctly.

“Why did he choose you to become a Valkyrie? Out of all the women on the earth, why you?”

She doesn’t answer for the longest time, though he can see it on the tip of her tongue. She appears to be battling something within as if it pains her to answer the question. And she peers at the sky as if beseeching permission for fear of smiting. But she chokes it out eventually.

“Because I am good at killing,” She starts, and then shakes her head because that's not all, “And because he thought we would be a good fit.”

A good fit? Kylo thinks, running the words through his mind and trying to make sense of them. If she was suggesting what he thinks she is suggesting…

“He chose you for me?”

Her lips draw into a fine line, but her eyes are wide.

“He has waited for you for a very long time. When he realized you would take a different path…”

And it all starts to fall into place. Odin hadn’t sent her to help him rule, he had sent her to put him back on the chosen path. To correct his direction. And he had done it with the acuity of a wise-man by hand selecting a creature he couldn’t help but crave. He had set this being, this once mortal life he plucked from the earth and turned into a creature of war to tempt him back to his side.

He sent him his deepest desire clad in wings, blood and destruction laced with a gentleness he can’t comprehend. Built just for him.

He is up off the ground before he even realizes his body is moving toward her. She doesn’t move, rooted to the spot like a doe about to dash but frozen on the brink. When his hands slide over her cheeks, the same way she always touches him, she shudders and her eyes fall closed. His fingers ghost along her jawline until he cups her chin and pulls it upward. He takes the time to study her face, so close. She isn’t like the women he has known in his years. There is an exoticness to her sun-kissed skin like she came from across the seas where the sun blisters the earth. Where there are not waves of water but waves of sand for miles. Where trees are gangly burnt fingers jutting up to the sky. A parched land.

A myriad of little freckles spatters across her cheeks and nose. He lets the fingers of his free hand chase them along her cheeks and nose, before pushing some of her drenched hair from her forehead. Her eyes flicker open, and he realizes those warm brown eyes are flecked with bits of gold. Her iris’ are quickly swallowing all the color, growing in desire with each touch. He lets his fingers trace along the shell of her ear, never taking his eyes from hers. That is until she lets out a little gasp, and then his eyes flicker down to her little-parted mouth. And then he can’t stand to just touch her so gently anymore.

He dips his head down, pressing lips to lips.

Chosen for him. His. His. He thinks, swimming in the realization.

Then her lips part and his tongue almost darts inside. But he realizes too late she isn’t granting him permission, she is trying to mutter a word.

He sees the black dots across his eyes and the ringing in his ears even before he feels the smack of her hand against the good side of his face. And more out of shock than anything he staggers back, glaring at her.

“What-“ He starts to sputter, heat lifting to his cheeks in embarrassment and rage.

But her words shut him down.

“We can’t!” She screams at him, taking steps backward as her eyes flash, “You idiot. You’ll bring his wrath down on us all.”

He stares at her, mouth agape and still fuming. It takes him a second for her meaning to click.

“It is against his law. Mortal and Valkyrie are not allowed. It is your one rule.”

He knew the stories about mortals and the immortals, how things went horribly wrong when they intermingled. But he had thought, her being a minor deity, hell her having once been a mortal, it wouldn’t count. It shouldn’t since Odin picked her for him. Knew he would desire her. Made her Valkyrie for that very reason.

“But he made you for me!” He hisses at her - confused and cornered.

“He chose me for you. To guide you back to the right path. Not so you could have my body!” She is screeching now.

“But you wanted me, too! I saw it in your eyes. You let me touch you…” He continues.

“That doesn’t matter! It is forbidden and that is all that matters.”

She stalks past him, leaving him standing in the middle of the hollow as she puts as much distance between them as possible. When she is on higher ground, and far out of his reach she turns back to look at him. “It is his one rule. Accept it, move on. There is much we need to do.”

After she leaves he takes his fists to one of trees and wails against it until his knuckles bleed and his bones appear. Only then does he stop, wrapping his arms around the trunk and letting his head rest against the bark. He can feel the compulsion to run after her, to apologize. The desire to turn away and leave her in the dust and tell Odin to take back this pawn in his game. Two desires that war against each other, each trying to tug him down a different path. To continue on in the mindfulness of Snoke, or to betray his current master for the greater God that has cursed his family for generations.

He knows who he will choose. Snoke wasn’t cruel enough to handpick a woman for him and then forbid him from having her to force his hand. Odin was.

But if he follows this path, what will become of the Valkyrie? Will Odin destroy her since she failed in her purpose? Will he continue to dangle her before him?

Both of those possibilities fill his throat with bile. She was a woman before he took her from her mortal life and turned her into this creature for him. Destroying her, when she had no say in the matter couldn’t be allowed. And now that he had felt her in the flesh, seen her these days, he doesn’t think he can let her go. He can’t let Odin have her back.

He sighs.

But, if she was once mortal, does that mean she could be again?

The little thought sparks to life and he realizes what he must do to keep her.

If only he knew someone that could tell him how to make a Valkyrie mortal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the notes and kudos! They mean the world to me. And please feel free to let me know what you think. I love to know good or bad. <3
> 
> I am so sorry for the late update. Finishing up the school year took up more time than expected. Plus this chapter gave me a bit of a fight - and took a different direction than I originally intended. But I think it turned out for the best. (Han will get stabbed in the next chapter - promise). So how do you think Kylo is going to turn her mortal? Any guesses?
> 
> You should see more frequent updates (but probably a bit shorter chapters) now that I have a little more free time. So keep an eye out. And if you are on tumblr come find me [@ohsnapcrackle](https://ohsnapcrackle.tumblr.com/) so we can swap reylo gossip and tidbits.


	9. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han gets stabbed with the pointy end.

It’s a sunny, crisp day with birds chirping when Abeltoft arrives. Composing their little procession are four men and one woman, all fit for travel with their sleep skins tied to their backs. He recognizes Poe Dameron as he walks into the Hall, though his gruff welcome falls dead on his tongue at the sight of the next man to enter. All chatter stills and a chill not caused by the autumn wind impregnates the atmosphere. When his tongue does manage to unhinge itself from the top of its mouth it is to let out a guttural growl that is more animal than human. Everyone but the offender takes a step back.

Anger is swelling in the pit of his stomach - lacing up his spine. Little vines of spiking heat are pricking at his nerves and making his heart slam into his chest. His breathing is erratic, and he knows his pupils are blown wide. His nostrils are flaring, and his fingers are curling inward like claws. He feels the hellish tide of nature gathering, preparing to crest over him and tug him along for a ride.

But a single hand on his stills the tide, giving him a second to catch his breath. The tide recedes back to his stomach, settling there like a caged animal ready to gnaw on the bars.

Berserker. He had nearly gone berserker.

He doesn’t need to look down at the hand covering his to know he has Rey to thank for stemming the tide. Instead, he closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and continues this until he is back in control. Only then does she pull her hand away and retreat back to her spot.

“Nice girl you got there, kiddo. She seems to do wonders for your temper.”

Kylo’s fingers dig into the hardwood of the throne, knuckles white as he works to keep his anger in check. He wishes Rey hadn’t stepped away, had stayed to see him through this moment because surely he will descend into an uncontrollable berserker rage. And leave it to his father to continue to goad him. The man had never known when to quit.

He chooses to ignore his father, instead of turning his attention to Poe Dameron who appears to be the ringleader of this farce.

“I thought you wanted negotiations, not a bloodbath.”

Poe goes to speak, but the woman steps forward instead. “Han Solo is under the protection of Abeltoft as a traveling patron to our cause and the to the cause of your Uncle. He is also afforded protection in Hvall as the husband of the former Queen Regent.”

“They thought I could talk some sense into you, my boy,” Han cuts off the woman’s spiel, earning a fierce glare.

“Protection. In Hvall?” He doesn’t keep the derision out of his voice, “My mother is long dead. Dead from giving birth to me. The son, which correct me if I am wrong, you called on many occasions a monster. A son who you abandoned to the care of your brother-in-law so you could travel the lands. A son you saw only once a year. A son you feared. And you come here under the guise of protection?”

“The old laws state -“ The woman starts again, and Kylo cuts her off.

“The old laws assume the same regency is in power. It is not. You are not afforded those protections any longer, Han Solo. And if the Gods wish to strike me down for it, then fuck them.”

An audible gasp fills the hall, even from his own men, though they look more resigned than shocked. They’ve been with him long enough to know his blasphemy and to have accepted it and any consequences.

“As a scoundrel and a smuggler, you are not welcome in my lands - punishable by death,” He levels his eyes with that of his father, and he is not shocked to see the same ferocity reflected back. His father had always been a stubborn fool and had never been one to back down from a fight when it counted.

Suddenly Abeltoft’s people have their weapons in their hands and are falling into protective stances.

Kylo waves for his own men to stand down, making no move to cross the distance to make good on his rage and claim his father’s life.

“We came here to negotiate, did we not?” The woman hisses across the hall, her eyes wide and ready for battle.

“Negotiate?” Ben laughs, “You do yourself dishonor by bringing a known enemy of my village into my hall. And you still want to demand negotiations?”

Han, who still has yet to pick up a weapon, places a hand on the woman’s shoulder and then steps in front of her.

“It's not that kind of negotiation, son. It's more of an offering. My life for the two prisoners and a truce with Abeltoft.”

The four visitors from Abeltoft all look shocked by this announcement. They had no clue Han Solo planned to sacrifice himself for the lives of their people. And Kylo has to admit he is a bit taken aback, too. He had always heard stories of his father’s compassion. But he had never really seen it. He had always wondered why his mother, a queen regent revered for her brass and her dedication to her cause married such a scoundrel. But the man standing before him, while aged and tired, isn’t the same man that raised Kylo. It's a man of reflections and time and a shimmer of the old grit that made him the infamous warrior Han Solo.

A man they tell stories about.

Kylo turns first to Sigard, who nods in acceptance. Then he turns to his men, who all look on with agreement. Even though their planning could not have anticipated this turn of events, they know his mind well enough to know what he intends. Finally, he turns to Rey, who is staring at the old man with a quirk of her lips before looking up to Kylo. With everything that happened between them the last couple of days, he hasn’t had the chance to ask her what she thought they should do with the prisoners. And they were more her charges than his. But this was his kingdom and they fell under his jurisdiction. Whether she liked the outcome or not, she would have to obey.

Or she could just kill him.

She tilts her head to the side as if contemplating a course of action. Then she steps toward him, motioning for him to lean down so she can whisper in his ear. It is the closest she has been since he kissed her in the hollow, and his pulse thrums a hair faster for it.

“Abeltoft must bend the knee,” She whispers, “And they won’t be satisfied until they see the gods favor.”

Their eyes lock and he knows exactly what she is implying. Sigard had suggested a similar thing the night before, but they all dismissed it as an unlikely possibility. But now that Han Solo has shown up, something none of them expected, it might be the best course of action. Abeltoft was much like old Hvall in its beliefs. They needed assurance from the gods that this is the path their people should take, especially with a once labeled monster leading them.

And it could give him what exactly what he wants.

He nods, turning his attention back to the hall.

“I do not accept the offering.”

Tension fills the room, and Kylo smiles at the feeling of it. How easy it would be to slice through them all and be done with this. But that would only be gauze for a wound. He has a chance at something more permanent if he plays this right.

“I offer other terms in its place. If you are so convinced I need to be broken or ‘talked sense into’ then why not leave it to the gods? We should settle with combat. My father against me. Should my father win and sway me to your side, with words or death, then your prisoners will go free and there will be a truce. Should I win, I will set your prisoners free and give Abeltoft peace. But I will demand one thing - Abeltoft must fall under my sovereignty.”

The room erupts into yells and commotion as Han and Kylo stare at each other down across the hall. Kylo knows Abeltoft will turn it down. They would be fools to agree to the challenge because they know they will lose. An old man against a strong young man? A son against a father?

But Kylo knows his father well. And they unwittingly assigned him a role as a negotiator and therefore he is an emissary of Abeltoft. Which means he could agree to the challenge without their approval and they will be bound to the results by their beloved gods.

He wants to kiss Rey again, this time for the sheer genius of her idea.

Because his father would never turn down such an offer - a chance to redeem his son.

“There is no way we will agree to this -“ The woman is shouting above the clamor. Poe is screaming along with her, though the pounding of Kylo's men's' hands on the tables is close to drowning them out.

“I accept.”

Han’s voice, though low, silences the entire hall. His eyes never leave his son. There is a stubborn acceptance to him as he stands there as if he already knows his fate and is willing to face it down. Despite his vices, Han Solo has always had this strength. And he thinks this is what his mother loved so much.

“You can’t accept on behalf of Abeltoft -“ The woman rushes up to him, tugging on his arm.

“The agreement has been made,” Rey’s voice booms across the hall and all eyes turn to the girl. She has stepped forward now, and those wings that have been put away for days unravel and reach to the heavens. Light bends around her, making her glow. And if anyone had any doubt of the god’s choice in this it withers and dies at the sight of her. “Under the watchful eyes of the gods, this pact has been made. Show your understanding.”

And for a moment there is silent confusion until Rey holds out both hands palm up and looks to both Han and Kylo. An old instinct, older than eating or thirst, brings them to either side of her. Each takes one of her hands, and she then pulls them together into a grasp. She bends down to kiss the embrace. Then she lets them go, and they step back as if burned. Kylo retreats back to his throne and his father to his spot across the hall. Rey’s wings fold back into themselves, disappearing into her back and the light that bent to surround her dissipates.

“It is done.” She whispers.

Under normal circumstances, a trial by combat of this level is preceded by a feast between both parties. But today no one wishes for that ceremony. No one wants to break bread or eat under pretense. They want this over. Even Han and Kylo, who could ask for a feast to celebrate what could be their last evening on Earth, don’t ask. Instead, both parties solemnly make their way to the fighting ring at the center of the village.

Already a small crowd has gathered to watch. They've been aware something like this could have been born of their negotiations. Their eyes are wide with fear, and some of them step back when they recognize Han Solo as he steps into the ring. Kylo divests his fur cowl, leaving it in the hands of Luta while he takes his sword from Sigard. And as he steps into the ring, he takes a glance at Rey. There is a dutiful shine to her, one like the first night he met her. And their eyes catch. She nods at him.

Sigard takes the job as referee, his voice booming over the ring as each fall into position. He runs through the rules, which they all know, and the prizes for winning. But Kylo ignores it all, his eyes focused on the wrinkled old face of his father.

He hasn’t seen him in years - and the years haven’t been kind to his father. He looks tired and burnt from his travels. His eyes are sorrowful and full of a need for redemption. A man of many mistakes and a desire to fix them all. His heart hammers in his chest, and he feels a little light headed. All the times he imagined getting back at his father, making him see the pain he inflicted on his son every time he left. And now that he has that chance…

He wishes he opted for that meal before the bout. A chance sit down and see what has become of his father’s soul in the last couple of years. He shakes his head. These are not the types of thoughts he needs to have at this moment - not when he is so close to getting what he needs. The revenge he has earned. The throne he was born to rule.

Snoke’s teachings flash through his mind as if the man is speaking to him across the great valleys. “Kill your father. Finish your training.”

And Kylo is sure Sigard has called a start to the combat now, but neither has moved. Han is looking at him with sorrowful eyes, not even gripping his sword.

“Son,” Han says, crossing the distance between them an inch at a time as if approaching a rabid animal, “I am so sorry I failed you. I wish I could go back and change everything. But I can’t. All I can do is let you know that I love you. That your mother loved you so much. That you are loved.”

And Kylo feels like that abandoned boy that wanted his mother’s arms about him in the dark nights. Or the boy that sat by the river for days on end for any sign of his father’s ship. And his grip on his sword drops for the briefest of seconds, his body weakened by the memories.

Han uses the opportunity to slip under his defenses to place a hand on his face. And Kylo leans into it for a moment, a keen desire for more of his father’s touch.

“I was always so conflicted, father. I never knew what to do.”

“I know, son. I should have never left you alone. But I am here now. Let me help you.”

He isn’t even aware when Han grabs his hand with the sword and pulls it up to his heart.

“I love you.”

And then Kylo pushes the sword through him with all of his might, his father’s hand still cupping his face. Then he pulls back, sliding the blood-slick sword from his father’s chest with a squelch.

Han Solo falls backward, hitting the mud of the combat pit with a resounding thud.

Cheers ring out from all around, his men hitting the wooden fence with their fists. Celebration in their voices. Kylo immediately turns away from his father’s body, unable to look the dead in the face with him so alive but a second ago. It has been a long time since he felt the repercussions of a death, felt the hollowness. But it would make sense it would be his father that would bring back the weakness of the little boy inside him. Instead, he focuses on the four emissaries from Abeltoft.

“Accept your new ruler.”

The four of them glance at each other, pursed lips and defiance in their eyes.

“We cannot do that,” Poe hisses, backing up a step as Kylo’s men bristle, “It was not a trial by combat. Han Solo didn’t put up a fight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love. <3 It so brightens my day. I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> Yay, I did post a little more frequently! So just how stupid do you think Abeltoft is in defying our power couple? What do you think will happen next? Hint, Rey is not going to be a happy valkyrie. And we get a break from the Rey/Kylo drama. For just a second. Don't worry, they'll have some more time together soon - they've got some training to do. ;)
> 
> And remember, if you are on tumblr feel free to find me - [@ohsnapcrackle](https://ohsnapcrackle.tumblr.com/).


	10. Summons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey smites some people. Kylo gets summoned.

 

If one is close enough to a lightning strike, even before it grounds, you can smell the acrid ozone. It is no different in this moment. And in that blinding moment when the light pierces the earth and sends white across all their visions, Kylo is thrown into a memory.

On the cusp of puberty, Kylo stands at the edge of this same combat ring with a spear in hand. At this point in his life, he is all long and gangly limbs that seem to have a mind of their own. No matter how much muscle memory he puts into each step. Or how many times he practices; at some point his misfit body will fail him - leaving him open to attack. And then his uncle will slide under his defenses and lay him out on his back in the mud. And that is exactly what this memory presents - one of those endless stretches of days of practicing with his uncle and never once putting his uncle on his back.

But this day had been different, Kylo remembers. It started out normal enough. Here he is circling the training ring with his uncle, twisting his spear to get the right grip. His uncle’s words as twisting in his head. Keep your eye on the enemy. Watch their feet. Anticipate. Close your eyes and feel. And on and on. Little pieces of combat wisdom that are so simple but so fundamental to survival. The ones that are easily forgotten and easily get you killed. And then his Uncle is advancing on him. The two whip and dance around each other, spears clattering as they flash through their drills. At this point Luke is still slightly taller than Kylo and far more skillful. But Kylo has been training since he could walk. He is able to keep pace with the greatest warrior in all the lands - even if his uncle is holding back. And he knows his uncle isn’t giving it his all. Something is stirring that angry beast in his chest, because Kylo isn’t feeling like taking a beating today. Not after his father is preparing to leave again and he had visions of blood and voices all night.

So Ben goes after his uncle with rage guiding his spear. And his uncle is having to up his game just the slightest bit to meet him tit for tat. A grin is spanning Kylo’s lips now, seeing his prowess finally make a dent in the solid mantle of his uncle. So he pulls on more of that anger, fueling his blows until Luke is doing more dodging than attacking.

“Nephew, calm yourself,” Luke demands. But Kylo doesn’t stop.

And when Luke realizes his nephew does not intend to stop, when Kylo draws blood from his cheek and grins at it, Luke stops. He drops his spear, opens his arms and raises his head toward the heavens, presenting the perfect opening for Kylo to skewer him alive. And for the briefest of moments, Kylo does consider it. The visions from the night before flood his mind, and the bloodlust it brought with them. And he is baring teeth like a wolf, lips pulling back past the gums and a low growl hissing past his teeth. But Luke doesn’t budge, even as Kylo nudges the tip of the spear close enough to cause the skin to dip withdrawing blood.

And then he presses forward just the slightest, blood blooming against the white undershirt of his uncle.

But a rumble from the clouds pulls his attention away. There is a strange smell filling his nostrils before everything goes blindingly white. He wakes minutes later, thrown against the fence of the training ring with his limbs twitching from the shock. His skin feels like it is on fire. He groans from the pain of it. His uncle looms over him, hands hovering over his skin - but not touching.

“It will be okay, Ben. Rest, and it will be okay.”

And the vision disappears as soon as it came. Kylo comes back to a scene, not unlike the one from his memory. Only this time he is not the one thrown against the ground feet from where he stood, twitching and writhing in pain. No, it's the four emissaries from Abeltoft. And Rey is looming over them.

Her back is to everyone else, and this is the first time he has seen her wings sprouting from her back. They are magnificent things, bent and shaped like those of a grand swan. Creatures so rarely seen in these parts, except if one was lucky enough to spot them in the densest of forests. Creatures given more to solitude and quiet than attacking and destruction.

He doesn’t need to see her face to know her warm brown eyes have collapsed into the black void that screams demigod. She is in full Valkyrie mode, now. It takes him a second to put two and two together. It hadn’t been Odin that sent that lightning down to smite the emissaries, it had been Rey. When had valkyries been able to summon the storms? That was more Thors domain.

Then again, he had thought valkyries could not be born until yesterday.

Her voice is like thunder when she speaks, but it sounds like it is echoing from a barrel. Its Odin, he realizes, acting through her. Some deep power within her, granted by the All-Father is pouring from her.

“You dare question the Gods in this?”

All but three of them are on their knees, which takes some work considering they have very little control over their trembling limbs. And Kylo finds he is not shocked to see the forth, that damned Poe Dameron, willing to continue the fight. Again he finds himself admiring the sheer stubbornness of the man; finds he is growing rather fond of the idiot. There seems to be a mutual dismissal of the gods between them that makes Kylo think Poe would make a good ally were he not on the other side.

“Look, Valkyrie, I don’t mean any disrespect. None at all. But Han Solo did not fight in this battle. He gave up. How can we agree to the terms if there was no real battle?”

Rey cocks her head to the side, contemplating his words.

“Perhaps you should have thought about that before bringing in an old man to fight your battles.”

That makes Poe’s mouth fall into line.

“So I will say this only one more time before I roast your corpses and send them to Hella. Bend the knee to Lord Ren.”

Everyone waits with baited breath as the last of the emissaries pins Kylo with his eyes, his body quivering from the aftershocks of the strike. And then he twists until he is in a kneeling position.

“Abeltoft bends.”

And everyone in the square falls to a knee before him, honoring their ruler. A swell of pride fills his chest at the sight. He has waited for this for longer than he can remember. It is almost sweeter than the moment he took Hvall from his uncle. But to have Abeltoft, now? And without much blood?

Snoke will be thrilled.

He turns his head toward the only figure left standing. The only one that does not need to bend the knee and their eyes lock. A smile tugs at her lips, and she nods her head at him before pulling her wings back against her body to become more woman than a wrathful demi-god.

It was because of her that he had this.

The moment between them is broken by his people jumping to the skies and yelling at the tops of their lungs. “Feast! Feast!” And they are grabbing the four emissaries by the arms and dragging them off toward the hall with intentions of drowning themselves in drink and food. As was customary when an understanding between allies was to be met. Breaking food and drinking was the most coveted of their rituals, and therefore Abeltoft and Hvall couldn’t be one without sharing food.

Kylo stands back as his people make a procession to the Hall, watching with an almost stunned silence until they are the only two left. When everyone is out of sight, she comes to stand next to him and grabs his hand.

“You did well.” She gives it a squeeze.

“I should say the same for you. Though you may have overdone it striking them down with lightning.”

She glances up at him, a wicked gleam to her eyes, “I don’t think so. I think it was just enough.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, because it was not his call to make. And it thrills him to know she is so capable. So bloodthirsty.

“So what will you do with all the ships? All the weapons?”

“What do you mean?” He looks down at her, confusion on his face.

“They were not as lost as Skywalker. They have kept their war skills honed. They've been preparing to strike against Snoke despite Luke’s teachings. All of those war boats, all those weapons, and all those blacksmiths and shipwrights are yours to command now.”

He hadn’t known Abeltoft was preparing for war. He had heard rumors they were attacking small shipments that belonged to Snoke, but he didn’t know it was this magnitude. Abeltoft had always been a sovereign of Hvall. A smaller holdfast that looked to the larger ruler for guidance. That they were blatantly building warships underneath his Uncle’s nose was surprising. It would even surprise Snoke.

“What would you suggest?”

She tilts her head, giving him a pointed look, “You wouldn’t agree with it.”

“You want me to overthrow Snoke.”

“It would be the wisest course of action. And the one Odin wants.”

“And what happens if I refuse to turn? Will Odin smite me like you did the emissaries? Or will he take you back and make you serve tables again?”

She pulls her hand out of his and takes a step back. But it's more, he thinks to put some distance between them because he can tell she wants to reach up and touch his face. To comfort him.

“He would never strike you down. And I am here until whatever end. It is your choice. He just wants you to make the right one.”

He closes the small distance between them, looming over her. But he doesn’t touch. Knows she will flinch away or strike him again, and he doesn’t want to cause her distress.

Not at this moment, when he is so curious for the next answer.

“And if I use those ships and people to help Snoke, what will you do? Will you still roast my enemies with lightning, or whisper strategies into my ear?”

She gathers air into her lungs, puffing out her chest and standing on the tips of her toes to get that little bit of height. To show she is not intimidated.

“I will. But I won’t like it.”

“Good. Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Then he brushes her hair back from her face before she darts from under his reach. Her hair pours from his fingers like water. She scrunches her nose in anger, glaring.

And he can’t help but smirk.

If he can’t take her body, he can have some fun bothering her about it. At least until he finds a way to make her mortal.

——

The emissaries leave the next day, looking worn and shocked at the prospect of their future. But the former prisoners are released to go with them. The party of six makes their way over the hill toward their homelands with at least some happiness in their eyes.

Kylo had refrained from speaking of his intentions for Abeltoft during the feast, wanting instead to let his men enjoy the food and let the emissaries lick their wounds. It was going to be a tough enough for them to come to terms without him shoving his plans down their unwilling throats. And he needs time to gather inventory on the weapons, people, and ships available to him. Then he can start planning wars and plunders.

So it comes as a surprise when only an hour later another messenger is at the gate seeking an audience.

But this messenger bears the mark of Snoke, so Kylo immediately takes his seat back on his throne.

Rey is nowhere to be found for which he is relieved to discover. He isn’t sure how she would react to seeing Snoke’s messenger giving him orders in the Hall. As much as she likes to let him handle his own affairs, she seems to lose her temper when someone questions his rights or Odin’s choice in granting Kylo blessing. So far she has nearly killed four people with a lightning bolt and almost snapped a man's neck for defiance. Hell, she has even split his face open and she is bound to him.

“Lord Ren,” The messenger starts, bending the knee before standing up again, “Supreme Leader Snoke, High King of the Northern Reaches, would like to congratulate you on your latest accomplishment.”

Kylo nods, “Tell him thank you for the acknowledgment.”

“I will, my lord. He also requests an audience with your lordship as soon as possible. He would like to make the sovereignty of the Southern Reaches official.”

Sigard smirks, and Kylo nods. He had expected this, though it has come a little earlier than he thought. He wonders if Snoke heard of his troubles with Abeltoft. News of his new treaty could not have arrived, yet.

“Of course. We will head out within the next three days. That should put us there within a weeks time if the weather is good.”

“Very good, my Lord. There is one other thing Snoke asks.”

That Kylo hadn’t expected, but before he could react the messenger is speaking.

“He has heard news of the Valkyrie. He requests you bring the magnificent creature with you so that he may meet her.”

He nods, stunned. It takes him a moment to get out his words. “Of course. Anything else?”

The messenger shakes his head, and Kylo turns to Sigard. He motions for his friend to see the man out.

“Thank you, messenger, for your journey. Please let my men see you have food and rest before you begin your journey back.”

The messenger bows as he leaves with Sigard. And once the two are out of sight Kylo sinks down into his throne.

So Snoke has heard of Rey. Of course, he would want to meet her. Who wouldn’t want to meet a real life Valkyrie? But even as he thinks the words, a horrible feeling grows in the pit of his stomach. Though Rey is bound to him, he knows Snoke is a man that craves power. And Rey is power. The lightning strike she used to smite Abeltoft’s emissaries was proof enough. If Snoke sought to find a way to turn that to his advantage - or worse take her from him, or cast her away. He shudders at the thought.

On the other hand, Snoke knows more about the magic of the gods than any other. If anyone would know how to turn Rey mortal, it would be him.

He tosses around the possibilities and knows, either way, he will have to travel to Snoke’s holdfast with Rey.

He just hopes his intuition is wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to post these chapters a little faster - I'll try and keep up the pace. Thank you to everyone that has left kudos, subscribed, left comments, or are just starting to read. I love to hear from you guys. Thank you for all your love. <3
> 
> Now I wonder what Snoke has planned for Rey? And how is Kylo going to handle it? And will Snoke be the one to give him the clue about how to turn Rey mortal, or will it be someone else...


	11. Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yri and Kylo have a conversation that goes a little too smoothly. The journey to see Snoke begins.

 

“So you are off to see Snoke?”

Kylo glances up from packing to see Yri leaning against the door of his chambers, her hands crossed over her chest and her lips pursed. Her hip is cocked, a sign that she didn’t come here to talk about his expedition. No, she had something else on her mind.

“You haven’t been around,” He says instead, skipping to the meat of the conversation. He hates dancing around a subject. He has seen her around camp, and occasionally dipping into his chambers. But her trunk disappeared the other day, and she has been dodging his gaze like the plague. Not that he has sought her out. But the few times they have crossed paths in the mayhem he hasn’t had a chance speak with her. Nor has he made time.

“One of the villagers pointed me in the direction of a nice vacant home near the North Fence. Hrok even helped move my trunk.”

Kylo stops his packing to take a seat on the pallet. He rests his elbows on his knees, looking up at her with slumped shoulders.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“Didn't I?” She crosses the room to stand before him, eyes flashing. “You’d take me for a fool? You think no one sees the way you look at the Valkyrie? The way you pine like a dog in heat?”

Kylo bristles, takes a deep breath, trying to push down the rage. He deserves this. She has every right to say these things. He is guilty of lusting after another. After promising Yri more than he is now willing to give. And there is no denying it - this desire for Rey.

“This is not how I intended for things to go -“

“And you think this is how I wanted them to go? You think I traveled all the way with your band of miscreants to live in a hovel on the outskirts of this decrepit holdfast? That I left my village so my intended could lust after a winged creature that feasts on the souls of the dead?”

“Of course not. I promised you so much more. I -“

“I don’t want your platitudes. I won’t need them. Because I’ll get my satisfaction when that creature either kills you, devours you, or leaves you ruined.”

“Yri, it's not like that. We can’t do anything. We can’t be together like that.”

“And what did you think would happen when you discovered that little piece of information? Decided that since you can’t have her, make her your wife, you’ll just keep me on the side? I am worth more than that, Kylo.”

“No, you don’t deserve that. I wouldn’t even suggest it…”

Her face twists into a leer, “No you wouldn’t,” and then something in her deflates for a second and she turns away from him to look into a corner of the chambers, “Because once you want something you will go to hell and back to get it. And you want her. So you’ll get yourself killed trying to find a way to have her. To slake your lust.”

He stares up at her, at a loss for what to say. Because she is right. After a long pause, she turns back to him, a weak smile on her lips.

“I used to think you would do the same for me. Go to hell and back.”

“Yri. I still will.”

She shakes her head, drawing her lips into a thin line, “It's different now. I don’t want that from you. I won’t have that from you.”

He finally finds some words, a little bit of clarity bubbling up to his tongue, “Yri, you need to understand that I never wanted this to happen. I planned to make you my wife. I planned to love and look at no one else but you. But the gods, they placed Rey in my way to change me. To make me choose a different path. And they found a fault in me that they exploited and I can’t seem to stop it from expanding.”

The golden-haired woman with eyes of green just stares down at him with violence in her eyes at this admission. And suddenly she is taking steps back, eyes flashing and her body rigid.

“Change your path? You mean the path Snoke set you on?”

“Of course. What other paths would there be?”

“Foolish boy,” She hisses, “What do you think he will do when he learns the Gods have been trying to persuade you? That you are even falling for their trick?”

He flinches in the wake of her anger, staring down at his fingers. “I won’t betray him, Yri.”

“I looks like that may have already happened. And for this girl. This beast?”

“I have already told her that I will not betray Snoke. She understands. There is nothing she can do to stop me.”

Yri lets out a snort of sorts and pins him with scathing eyes. “She’ll devour you if Snoke doesn’t. And I will savor every little moment. And then I’ll mourn for the year I peddled away loving a fool.”

“Yri, I am sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

“There is nothing you can say. Nothing to say.”

He closes his mouth, running his hands through his hair trying to search for words to make this better. Because he hadn’t intended to hurt her. He had loved her once until Odin threw this Valkyrie in his path and shattered everything.

Then she turns away with the pace of a vengeful woman, only stopping the door to look back once.

“And may the Gods be with you in your travels. You will need them now that Snoke knows you have a Valkyrie under your finger,” She hisses out. And then she is gone.

Kylo lets go of the breath he is holding, pressing his palms to his eyes and resting for a second. He had expected worse from Yri, to tell the truth. She had never been one to hold her tongue or her punches. Nor one to not put up a fight for something she wanted. And this thought pulls a little at his mind because it had been too easy of a conversation. Too easy of an end. Which means she either has something planned for the future. Or she already did something to undermine him.

And then it clicks.

“Fuck,” He hisses, hitting his knees with his fist. Her last words echo in his head…’you will probably need them now that Snoke knows you have a Valkyrie under your finger…’

Only Sigard knew of Snoke’s command to bring Rey to the Northern Reaches specifically. And he had told Sigard to keep that quiet. He didn’t want Rey having the chance to plan against Snoke, had left that part of the message out of what he told his traveling companions. Not wanting them to worry, because such a demand from Snoke was a closely veiled threat.

Which meant there was only one-way Yri knew about Snoke’s command. She had been the one to tell him. Yri had been in contact with Snoke without his permission. Had snitched.

Which made his heart speed up with panic. Just how much had she told him?

——

An hour has passed since dawn, later than he intended to leave Hvall for their journey to the Northern Reaches. But he had been up the night before, tending to the flames and seeking the guidance of Maz until his eyes blurred and sleep took him. So he had slept in later than the normal, the smell of sage and herbs still clinging to his nostrils and a foul mood brooding under his chest. He grabs his pack and sleep furs, and crosses to the fence without bothering to brush out his hair and rebraid. When he appears before his little travel party, he is met with raised brows and smirks.

“You look like hell,” Hrok starts, and Kylo pins him with a look to let him know he is not in the mood. Hrok shrugs and turns to his travel gear, tugging Luta with him. They go over their supplies as Kylo slides over to talk to Sigard. He places a hand on his shoulder, letting what he can muster a smile cross his face.

“You’ll take good care of her?” He looks into his oldest friend’s eyes, and Sigard lets out a little laugh and returns the embrace with his hand on Kylo’s shoulder.

“Of course, brother. Though if the Valkyrie could have stayed, I would feel a little more confident.”

Kylo snorts at that, “You know well I didn’t have a choice.”

Sigard leans in so he can speak without being overheard, “And you be watchful. If he knows that much -“

“It will be fine, brother.”

“I am just saying. Snoke isn’t known for his compassion.”

Kylo thanks his brother, and they pat each other’s back before pulling away. But as Sigard starts to walk away, back to the hall he will preside over until Kylo’s return, Kylo realizes Rey is missing.

“And speaking of the Valkyrie. Shouldn’t she be here?”

Sigard shrugs, about to open his mouth, but Luta cuts him off.

“She is in the woods, waiting. Said she was preparing some tools for training.”

“Training? For the road?”

His two companions shrug, “Didn’t think to question her,” Hrok adds, “Strikes me as the type that doesn’t like being told what to do. Unless it's you. Even then she seems to get a little incensed.”

So they had picked up on that, too?

“Yes, she can be a bit temperamental.”

And Luta lets out a loud bark, “I am temperamental. Yri is temperamental. The Valkyrie nearly roasted four men the other day. Has taken down a berserker. And you never know. One second she is all calm and complacent and the next she is pulling lightning from the skies and splitting skulls. The temper on her makes the stories of Thor seem docile.”

Hrok laughs, “But it would make sense she would be our Valkyrie. Considering who our leader is. Couldn’t have a submissive Valkyrie when she has to contend with Kylo Ren.”

And his conversation with Rey from days ago floats back to the surface. Built for him. Chosen for him. How right Hrok was without knowing.

“And Maz? Where is the volva?”

Luta smirks, “Where she always is ever since Rey showed up - with the Valkyrie. The two seem to have attached themselves to each other.”

Which is no surprise to Kylo. Volva’s had a direct line to the gods, so it would make sense two creatures selected by the gods would gravitate toward each other.

“Then we best find them and get started. I would like to get this journey over with as soon as possible.”

Hrok and Luta nod, grabbing their packs and heading out the gate with him. Despite having been down for a few days, Luta had assured him she would be ready to travel. And he doesn’t see her pace has diminished or lessened in any way. And since Hrok had agreed she would do fine on the road, Kylo hadn’t questioned it. Because Hrok wouldn’t let her out of bed if he didn’t think she wasn’t in top shape.

They find the last two travel companions on the outskirts of the woods, seated under a great ash tree with heads bent toward each other like conspiring teenagers. They don’t bother to look up when the other three reach the foot of the tree, too lost in their conversation.

“So these are used to stop bleeding. If you mash them like so and then place them over a wound they will work like cloth. But you can’t use too much or it will poison the blood. Make it turn black.”

Rey is running the leaves of the herb through her fingers, eyes wide in interest, “I had no clue there were so many things used to heal mortals.”

“And why would you, dear? You are a creature of death. There is no need to save a life when they are already on your doorstep.”

Rey wrinkles her nose in distaste but lets whatever she thought to say die on her lips when she realizes they have three more companions.

“Learning how to heal, Rey?” Luta asks cheerfully, shifting on her feet.

“It seems like a skill I will need if I am to stay in the mortal realm for long. I’ve already had to use some healing since I arrived.”

Hrok snorts, “You mean trying to heal Kylo after you sliced his face in half?”

Rey goes red in embarrassment, and her gaze falls on his. He feels a smirk tug against his lips, even though he tries to fight it.

“He deserved it,” she mumbles, and Hrok and Luta laugh at his expense, “But I also helped the other two.”

“Yeah, and Abeltoft was happy about that. But next time, use those skills to help us, how about that?” Luta snarks.

Rey glances at the girl, steel eyes meeting steel eyes. “I can’t promise that. But that is why I am learning. To help you. To help his people.”

She doesn’t need to point at him to let them know who he is.

“No need to defend yourself, Rey,” Hrok says, clasping a hand on Luta’s shoulder. “We know you mean well. Luta’s got a chip on her shoulder. Ignore her.”

And then he gasps from an elbow to his stomach.

“I thought you were gathering things for training?” Kylo interjects before Luta’s temper will get the best of her.

“We were, and then we found everything we needed. So we started talking medicines,” Maz says, starting to put away her potions. Rey starts handing materials back to her.

“We won’t have time for any type of training. It will take us all week to make it to the Northern Reaches.”

Rey starts getting up, and he sees she has a pack that seems stuffed as well. Someone has found furs for her, which she quickly tosses on her back and hooks a couple of satchels on her side. Apparently, Maz has taken it upon herself to see to Rey’s needs. Better than Kylo has, and he feels a little ashamed for not reaching out to make sure she was comfortable.

“Oh, we will have plenty of time,” Rey says, dusting off her clothing. Everyone but Maz and Kylo bristle at her words, shocked to hear her challenge him so openly.

Kylo feels his temper flare, his bad mood starting to boil again.

“And just what type of training do you think we will have time for on this travel, Rey?”

“I told you, once you healed up, that we would start improving your Berserker. We are already behind since I wounded you. We can’t lose any more time.”

Kylo shrugs, “I know enough that we can put it off for a week.”

Rey snorts, and he turns back to look at her. Everyone else has stepped out of their way, mouths and eyes open wide as the atmosphere starts crackling around them. This is the first time they have seen a challenge between them, though Kylo and Rey have had several in more private times. Hell, they have one every-time they talk it seems.

“Really? Would you like me to leave a scar on the other half of your face since the first doesn’t seem to be enough of a reminder?”

Maz clears her throat, drawing both of their gazes back to hers.

“Why don’t we discuss this on the way to the Northern Reaches? We are already heading out a little late.”

Kylo turns back to Rey, glaring daggers at the girl. She stares back, a wicked smirk on her face and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea, Maz. Let's go.”

And then she is walking off down the path, leaving the rest of them in the dust.

Hrok comes to stand beside Kylo, his mouth still half open.

“You going to tell her she is going the wrong way?”

Kylo sighs, “Why don’t you? Since you seem concerned about it.”

Hrok rolls his eyes, “Because I don’t want to lose my head. You sure did seem to put her into a mood.”

“Yes, well, it seems to be something I am good at. Just walk in the right direction. When she realizes we aren’t following I’m sure she will catch on.”

Maz stifles an amused cough but follows along as they start in the other direction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too much happening here, just needed to pull a few plot strings together and set-up for the journey. Already working on the next couple of chapters - we finally get to have them train a little and learn a bit more about the Beserker skill. And more Kylo/Rey banter and tension. ;)
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely notes and kudos! I love hearing from you guys! <3


	12. Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training begins and Kylo makes an unexpected new friend.

 

“There is a violence to it. Nature is both destruction and creation. To utilize the berserker skill is to channel that destruction into your body to destroy your enemies.”

She stands across from him, hand clasped around her spear with one hip cocked to the side. Rey has selected for their first training lesson to take place on a jutting cliffside overlooking the Southern Reaches. If he were to peer over the edge and look across the vast distance he knows he could spot the little clearing of Hvall. Within the span of two days, they have gained enough ground for Kylo to agree to pause for a training session. That was after two days of the valkyrie shooting daggers at him. Finally, her wrath culminated in holding her ax to his throat with the threat of dragging him out to the bushes herself if he didn’t comply.

And she would do it, too. Knock him out and sling him over her shoulder. Or not even bother to make sure he was unconscious…awake to suffer the humiliation.

“This much I know.”

She glares at him, and he raises a hand to run through his hair. She’s been in a mood since they left Hvall, hell since their discussion days ago about his allegiance to Snoke. He hopes that by agreeing to the training and giving her an outlet for her anger, he can improve her demeanor.

“No, you don’t know. You have had lessons on pieces of the skill, but you are missing the fundamentals. The first step is not in learning how to battle or to meditate. The first lesson is learning how to anchor yourself.”

He knows this as well. Luke spent a good chunk of his time teaching this to Kylo. They spent hours sitting on rocks and cliffs listening to the crashing of nature around them. He almost repeats himself but seeing her eyes flash he decides to hold his tongue. Best to put up with it and be done.

“You need a familiar. A spirit animal to channel the destruction of nature so that you can use it without damage to your mortal soul.”

That makes his eyes fly away from looking at a bush across the clearing to her. At this she raises an eyebrow, smirking at finally having caught his attention. His curiosity.

“I always thought familiars were a myth. My uncle claimed dark practitioners of berserker once had familiars. And then Snoke claims that ability disappeared with the elves years ago.”

With a smirk, Rey tosses her spear off to the side and walks over to the edge of the cliff. She stands on the precise, her eyes locked with his and holds out her hands. Two more steps back and she would fall right off the edge. He almost steps closer, but she shakes her head as she unfurls her winds and bats them against the sky.

“It is a bit different for a Valkyrie. We don’t learn the gift like mortals. We are given it upon our birth. Our familiar is born inside us when a feather is added at our consummation. But it works much the same.”

His breath catches as her hands fall to the baldric on her shoulder and she shucks it. Then her hands are undoing the lacings on her tunic, racing through them far faster than he would have liked. He wants to stop her, to cross the distance and still her hand. To make her go slower, or better yet to let him pull at the strings until she was bare before him. He doesn’t. And soon her tunic and pants and boots, and her clothing is tossed to the side so she stands naked and unabashed before is gaze.

She is more beautiful than his brain could have conjured on its own. All of her skin looks to be bathed in sunlight, tinted just so to look warm and inviting. Chorded muscle runs all along her body, softened by the gentle swell of her hips, the small mounds of her breasts, the femininity of the slopes of her legs. All soft and hard. And so strong. Even as he lets himself drink his feel, she doesn’t shift or turn her head. She just stares directly back at him, unashamed as if this is the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps for a creature of nature it is.

When he is done, and their eyes finally meet she has a tilt to her lips that makes him blush. And he doesn’t know why he, still completely clothed, feels more exposed than she. One foot steps forward. Then the hesitation sets in. As if she hadn’t intended to take that step. Or if something were pulling her back. She drops her eyes, turns her head toward the cliff and shifts in that direction instead.

He knows exactly what she means to do when he sees her cross to the cliff. His heart freezes in his chest, even as she turns back toward him, just a few steps from the edge and opens her arms. With a laugh she unfurls her wings, batting them against the air.

And then she takes the two steps and leans back until she descends from the ledge. Like a child trust-falling into the arms of their parent.

He rushes to the edge, glances down and sees nothing. No winged creature taking flight. No woman tumbling to her death. Just the valley and ridges below.

Then there is a rush of white and a squawk from a creature far smaller than he expected near this face. It alights in the air and he tumbles backward in shock as a large, beautiful swan flutters to the ground on the edge of the cliff. It turns its head, just like Rey has a tendency to do, and catches his eye. Though everything else on her is completely swan, her black eyes seem more soulful than any bird he has met. Slowly he closes the distance between them, emboldened when the creature doesn’t jump or try and nip his hand. She stands there calmly and lets his hand gently press against the soft down of her head, down to the softness of her wings. Beautiful.

Swans were rare creatures in these parts. Secretive and elusive. It is deemed good luck to spot one. But now he wonders if they are elusive because they are more than a skittish woodland creature. If they hide because inside them resides a Valkyrie.

He pulls back as he feels a tremor under the feathers, gives it space as it starts to shift like a mirage from the gentle swan to the body of a woman.

And it is Rey again, seated with a gentle smile on her face and hair all askew. She peers up at him from beneath her lashes and hair, blowing some strands out of her mouth.

“See, familiar.” She lets out a little laugh, but it catches as he reaches out a hand and tucks some of her hair back behind her ear. His finger traces the shell of her ear, slowly. His gaze follows his hand traveling down to her neck and across the soft skin at the nape of her neck. Then to her shoulder and down her arm. He feels the gooseflesh prickle at his touch, smiles at how she responds. Her breathing is a little more hitched. He can hear it so close to his own ear. She doesn’t pull away, seems frozen as his fingers pause on her upper arm and his hand wraps around it, making little circles with his thumb. Only then does he lift his eyes from watching his fingers along her skin to meet her hooded gaze.

“Stop,” She whispers, and he pulls his hand away.  She scoots back to put some distance between them.

“Fine,” He responds, not even angry about it. But clenches his hand at the absence of her softness. “You were saying?’ He says to break the tension, to wanting her bait her or make her angry. Not now. Not when her eyes are so wide in fright.

“I want my clothes before we start again.” She says, pointing to the pile she left a few feet away from the cliff.

“Sure. I’ll give you a chance to put them back on,” He says, smirking as he falls back on his heels. The thought of getting to watch her redress makes his blood hum.

“No, I’m not getting up,” She says, folding in on herself and her eyes boring into his. A little pink tints her cheeks, and he realizes she is embarrassed. Just a minute ago she had been walking without shame butt ass naked and falling off a cliff. But now she is bashful.

He smirks and crosses his arms. He wants to see her get up. Walk across that distance. See the back of her. Watch her taut muscles ripple with the movement. But when he really looks at her, takes the moment to rethink the situation, he sighs. She looks so uncomfortable, vulnerable. And he has never seen her like this - more mortal girl than a justified warrior. It tugs at him, makes him get up without a word and gather her clothes. Makes him hand them to her with his gaze averted, and turn his back when she starts to put them on.

“Yours is a swan?”

“All Valkyries have a swan for a familiar. Well, all except the Morigan. But she is different. Not a true Valkyrie.”

“So can you change into a swan anytime you like?”

“Yes. It's the form we usually take in the mortal realm. It is easy to watch and learn as a beast than it is as a winged human. It is rarer for us to take our true form before mortals.”

“Blessed I am, indeed.” He laughs and feels her glare on his back as she shuffles around with her clothing.

“Thought we already covered that, Kylo.”

“So, you have a familiar that is a swan. What other types of familiars are there?”

She appears by his side, fully clothed and while her little cheeks are still heated, she seems more composed than a moment before.

“Oh, many. Wolves are common. Sometimes ravens. Mountain cats. Really anything. There was even a berserker that bonded with a rabbit. Wasn’t a very powerful beserker, but she was good at hopping.”

He gives her an odd look, and she laughs. A smile beams across her face, “True fact.”

“So what will my familiar be? Please tell me I won’t be another rabbit.”

“That's the thing, no one knows. Only when you are ready will it reveal itself. So that is the first step in your training. Finding your familiar.”

He nods. “If a familiar is required, then why have so many learned the berserker skill without a familiar? They are things of legends. No one has used them in known history.”

With a sigh, she grabs his hand and tugs at it so he looks down at her.

“Anyone can learn to be a berserker without a familiar. But it is not a complete skill. To be a true master of the berserker skill you have to be blessed with a familiar. Chosen by the gods to contain the rightful power of the destructive force of nature. To take on the skill of the berserker is not just to become a better warrior. It is to become a force of nature unto yourself. A force to destroy and make way for things, better things to be built. Gods are selective in who will gain this power. So they pick and choose who can have a familiar. Who can gain the full power of nature.”

“And the gods have chosen me for this?”

A secretive smile pulls at her lips, “You are descended from the force of nature itself. A gift from your mother and her father before her. It is in your blood to manipulate nature. To be a conduit. Now it is time for you to do so correctly.”

She drops his hand then, steps away and toward the woods that edge the clearing of the cliff. She glances over her shoulder, motions for him to follow.

Their little trek takes them to a bubbling creek with moss and trees and the singing of birds. All the animals clear the place before he rests on a rock that Rey motions for him to take. Directly across from him she sits and crosses her legs. Placing her hands on her knees, she closes her eyes and dips into meditation. He follows, letting the bubbling of the creek tug his consciousness to another plane. Rey’s words fan over his mind, deep underneath the floating of his brain but there. Guiding.

“Pull the nature into yourself. Hold it there. Drift with it. And when you are ready, it will come. You will feel it. And your eyes will open to see your familiar.”

How long they sit there, he has no clue. In meditation, time holds no dominion. His brain drifts in and out like it swayed by the tide. Detached from his physical being, the world falls away and only his soul exists. It feels him with calm, dissipates his thoughts. Simple existence without the boundaries of life. Waves lapping at his mind. He drifts and drifts.

Until there is a tug. Like the pull of a string between his brows, between his two eyes. Begging him to open something he never knew was there. And as if waking from a deep slumber, that thing does wake. He feels the skin between his eyes part, blink, waken. He remembers the man at the temple of Uppsala his uncle claimed had the third eye and knows this is what has woken in him. The eye to see all the realms, to see the spirits and beyond. The one that only opens when the soul is anchored to the spiritual plane.

And when it opens, he feels a fellowship flood his veins. Before him is a black mirage, much like a reflection in disturbed water. He can’t make out the features of the thing before him. But he reaches a hand out anyway, touching the veil that divides them. Some of the veil peels away, clearing the image. Then the thing on the other side of the barrier reaches out to him and their spirits meet. He knows before the veil falls what has claimed him in spirit. What creature has taken residence in his breast along with his heart?

The creature nudges forward, and Kylo wraps his hands around its head in a hug.

Reality comes crashing down around him, shattering like a mirror. His third eye disappears back into his head, and the chirping of the birds becomes a loud rhythm that takes him a second to adjust to. But he is still clinging to something. His fingers are buried in coarse hair, and his head resting against the forehead of his familiar.

And he leans back to take in the form of his being. The symbolic form his destructive nature force has taken. And he is humbled and proud at the same time.

It's fitting that his familiar would be that of a large black bear.

Across from him he hears Rey wake from her mediations, feels her eyes fall on his and then rove over the bear he now embraces. Even as he thinks about her, the bear nudges in closer, burying its nose into his chest and begging for more touch. He lets his hands dip further into the fur, runs them along its head. Smiles against its rumbling grunts.

“It's glorious,” Rey whispers from her seat on the rock. And he notes that she has shifted, crouching in a position as not to frighten his familiar. But her eyes are wide in wonder and he can see she wants nothing more than to touch it.

He pulls a hand from its head, holds it out to the Valkyrie and motions for her to take it.

“Familiars don’t like others to touch them,” Rey whispers, meeting his eyes.

“Yours let me touch it,” He responds.

“I’m sure that is different.”

“Is it? We could find out. But something tells me he won’t mind.”

With a hesitant sigh, she takes his hand. He tugs her across the distance, making her fall against him. Then, with his hand engulfing hers, he places it on the head of his familiar. The bear lets out a little grumble but doesn’t make a move other than to continue to nuzzle at Ben while he aids Rey in stroking its fur. When her ministrations become more confident he lifts his hand and goes back to sinking his fingers into the fur.

As the sun threatens to sink sometime later, Ben pulls away and turns to Rey. “We need to go back.”

She nods, pulling her hand away and standing up from where she had been leaning against his familiar and running her hands along its ribs to its pleasure.

“Yes, we do.” She puts a pat on the bear’s head, and it turns to look at her with a huff that makes her hair flutter. “Don’t worry, you’ll come with us. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” She smiles down at it, and Kylo stares up.

“He is coming with us?”

“Of course,” She laughs, “He is your familiar. He is going to stick with you. Be by your side. Be your weapon that is a part of your soul. And someday you will fight together side by side and as one.”

“A bear? I’m going to have a bear with me at all times?”

“That's what happens when you have a familiar.”

“My people are not going to like this.” He grumbles, and Rey laughs.

“Oh, but they are going to grow to love it. Just like they love you.” And she holds out a hand in an offer to help him up.

Sure enough, as they walk back to camp, his familiar barrels along behind him. Quiet for a creature so big.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't express how much I appreciate all of your love. Thank you so much! <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the little bit of Kylo and Rey awkward time. Not too much longer and these two will finally get the chance to work through their frustrations. (Oh man I am so ready to get to that part of this story! Its been too long coming!) And now that Kylo has started his training, we will get to see some of his skills. Perhaps he will be strong enough to face Snoke by the time they end this little journey?
> 
> As always, I love to hear what you think. Feel free to drop me a note or visit me on tumblr [@ohsnapcrackle](https://ohsnapcrackle.tumblr.com/).


	13. Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Kylo have a sparring session that causes some revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you guys for all your love and comments. <3
> 
> So I had this chapter ready to go since Wednesday, but with AO3 down and then some strange error posting the chapter yesterday, I'm reposting it today. *fingers crossed* Sorry if it caused any confusion or problems. Without further ado, enjoy!

 

 

Over the next few days, they train and travel to the point the two things start bleeding together. Then night falls and they all crash on their furs exhausted and spent. His new companion, fondly called Chewie now, curls up at his feet with his head resting on Kylo's ankles. Though they have just bonded it feels like they have been doing this since birth - as if a part of him has finally fallen into place. And he can tell a slight difference in his anxiety. It calms him, this beast of the forest.

To his surprise, his people welcomed his new friend. While they stood in silence for the first five minutes of the initial encounter, Hrok had broken the tension with his booming laugh.

"Think you could have found a bigger familiar?"

Then he had been subjected to dozens of jokes about how fitting that he should bond with a bear considering his size and churlishness. The jokes made it easier to accept his growing oddity. After all, he was now the only man alive that possessed a familiar, to his knowledge. And he had a valkyrie backing his every move.

He turns to look at Rey, letting his musings slip away. It's midday and they are a day from reaching Selaeyrr, the main village in the Northern Reaches.

“We haven’t sparred in days,” She complains, rubbing at her shoulders. She peers up at him with those big, brown eyes.

She has been asking to spar every day since he started familiar training. And each day he denies her, citing the need to make good time. He knows if they did take a moment to spar it would eat the whole day. Everything they do alone makes time disappear. He knows if they spar then an entire day will be lost.

It is better if he trains his connection with his new familiar. That he can do as they walk - letting his mind stretch out and meld with Chewie for minutes at a time. He has worked up to holding their melding thoughts for five minutes. And that is only half the battle - the rest is trying to interpret Chewie’s series of growls and rumbles. Chewie doesn't speak human in his mind, though he seems to be able to understand Kylo.

"I am still training with Chewie," He offers as an explanation.

"And you need to continue that. But it is important to keep up your fighting skills, too."

“You just want to fight me,” He says with a smirk. She responds with a sweet smile.

“Please?”

He wants to deny her again but is finding it hard when she is pleading like this. Begging. And he feels the tension growing in his neck for the lack of practice as well.

"Fine," He grounds out. She beams at him.

They stop, and he calls out to the group ahead, "We will make camp here."

The group stops. It takes them a few minutes to find a good camping spot. Though they still have half the day, they can use the time to hunt and refresh. He has kept a grueling pace. If he is going to take some time for himself, he might as well let his people enjoy a break, too.

Once the camp is set up, the group splits. Maz stays put, working the fire and preparing to start a meal. Hrok and Luta disappear into the woods for a hunt. Rey and Kylo take off in the opposite direction, toward the cliffs. Chewie doesn't follow for once, giving Kylo an assessing eye before curling up across from Maz by the fire.

It isn't long before Rey chooses a clearing with enough space for sparring. She seems to like high places, and this one is no exception. Half of the clearing is the exposed stone of a cliff - one that hangs over miles of air.

“Any lessons today?” He mocks, spinning his spear as he falls into a fighting stance across from her.

Rey, too, falls into a crouch with her spear. Fire erupts in her eyes.

"Nothing specific today. Berserker training is on hold until your connection with Chewie is stronger. We will just spar until then.”

She swings at him. He smiles broadly, easily dodging. He is learning her patterns and styles. Knows she likes to attack first with volleys of small hits meant to throw off her opponent.

So he meets her tit for tat as they dance across the glen. The sound of wood rapping against wood fills the clearing. They duck, swing, hiss, growl, and tap spears against muscle and skin. He dodges a set of nasty quick thrusts and manages to angle his spear so it traps hers. It gives him enough time to sweep her feet from under her.

She goes down with a whoosh but is back on her feet in seconds with a battle cry that shakes the trees. Birds take flight, and Kylo laughs as she rushes at him, teeth bared.

Their spears smack against each other harder than before. This time he can feel them reverberating through his arms. With one quick stroke, she presses downward with her spear trying to make him give. Their arms are touching, faces so close he could lick the sweat off her cheeks. Feeling confident that she won't break this hold and send him sprawling to the ground, and not caring if she does, he does just that.

He leans over their powerful arms that are quaking with effort to press his lips to her cheek. Then he drops his head to swipe his tongue along her jawbone, catching a drop of sweat.

"You bastard," She screams, and he hears the wood of a spear snapping. It is his. Cracked right down the middle. Without thinking he shifts, intending to use them as tandem battering rods. His arms fly out, throwing off her balance as she attempts to slash at him. He laughs, thrilled as she feverishly attacks him.

His broken spear now makes excellent rods to pound against her spear. They continue this adapted dance while her hair tumbles out of her buns and sticks to her face. Her eyes grow more enraged by the second as his enjoyment becomes more palpable.

“Concentrate, Rey,” He taunts, “Don’t let your anger get the better of you.”

Of course, all it does is enrage her further, which was his whole intent. And damned if he doesn’t love it when she is spitting mad and pounding against him with all the power of her muscled body. Fury trapped in such a taut willowy body. He is so glad he agreed to this little sparring session.

“You need to stop being so brazen,” She punctuates each of her words with a hit, drawing in close to his face, “You know nothing can happen between us. So stop.”

Battering away at him, she drives him toward the cliff edge and he catches her spear in a lock with his two pieces.

“Is that what you are angry about? The gods? Or are you angry that you want to and can’t?”

He gets a smack upside the head by her spear for that one, feels the blood well in his mouth. Grins through it. “I will take that to mean it is the later one."

He dodges another attempt to take his head off by dropping to the ground. He uses his arms to pivot the lower half of his body so he can sweep a leg under her feet. Like before she tumbles toward the ground. But before she can recover he uses his other leg to pin her down.

Trapping her between both of his legs.

She thrashes and growls at him, feral and snapping against his leg. They are so close to the edge of the cliff that if either shimmied another foot they would tumble off the edge. Maybe it is the lack of oxygen from the elevation? Or it's the adrenaline from being so close to the edge that causes him to squeeze his thighs tighter.

Both of their breaths hitch.

He curls toward her, using his legs to draw her closer so he can fold around her. Her upper torso presses against his chest, head just under his. He shifts so he is propped up next to her, head resting on his hand. He lets his eyes rover over the woman trapped between his legs.

With his free hand, he reaches out to caress the side of her face. He dips it into her hair and tugs at a sweaty tendril so he can curl it around a finger. He watches his hand for a second before dropping his eyes to hers. She makes no move to stop him, just glares up at him with those ferocious eyes.

He knows she could easily break his legs and pry him off her. But she isn't pushing, clawing, or fighting. He can feel the thrum of her heartbeat against a finger at her neck. Not panicked.

“So, which one is it, little swan? Are you angry with me or with the gods? Or are you angry at yourself because you want me?”

“I’ve told you it is not allowed,” She whispers, eyes switching from angry to pleading, “The gods would not be happy.”

He leans down, pressing half of his chest against hers and tracing a hand down her face until he pauses at her lips. Her tiny, angel bow lips. “Would you be happy if we did? Do you think you would like to find out?”

Her sun-kissed skin turns a vibrant red from a blush, though she shakes her head, “There is no point -“

He bends his head down, pressing his lips to the shell of her ear. Lets his breath fan over her skin as he traces her lips with his finger.

“But what do you want, Valkyrie? Not what the gods ask of you. What do you want?”

She gulps, turns her head away as if ashamed. Trying to keep something from him. He hooks a finger under her chin and pulls her gaze back toward his; knows that if they break contact this little bit of headway he has made will shatter.

“I asked you what you want, Rey. Would you deny me the truth?”

He feels her legs shuffle underneath his, recognizes her body's need for friction. He tightens his own legs, drawing in her thighs so he can press his straining arousal against her body. She hisses and moves her thighs again. He wonders if he was to dip his hand between her thighs if it would be as wet as he imagines. But he wouldn't dare do that, not until he has wrenched the truth from her damned lips.

She looks into his eyes, searching. Then they stop, grow resolute. Decision rests in them.

“I want to remember what it is like to be human. All the food. The people. The emotions. All of it was once a forgotten whisper after Odin turned me. But being here, on Midgard, it makes me want to remember.”

His chest seizes at the revelation, at the depth of it. It's something he could understand to an extent because it was the same thing that kept him up at night. The same fear and desires that drive him through life. The need to feel and live. Only she is on the other end. He feels too much. She too little.

“I can help you with that,” He whispers into her ear, keeping her eyes locked on his. “I can remind you.”

She chokes a bit at that, and he thinks there are some tears welling in her eyes. Suddenly she is back to shifting uncomfortably but she doesn’t look away. “You can’t remind me of something I have never known.”

He sits up a little then as understanding dawns. She has never been with anyone. Even as a mortal. She was given to the heavens before she even knew the touch of a lover.

“Oh,” And he feels all of his bravado sink. It wasn’t something he considered. The way she fights, the way she speaks. She is always so forward and honest. Always so confident. But he can see now the way her thighs quake and her eyes dart around that this is something she is not altogether familiar with. While she has been denying him to prevent the anger of the gods she has also been using it as a shield against him. Against his sexuality and all the things she doesn’t understand about it.

Her hand reaches up to cup his face then, and she runs her thumb over his cheek.

“Do you think you could show me, though? Just a little. Not enough to anger the gods if that is possible.”

He stares down at her, eyes wide with her question, “Do you even know what you are asking?” He manages to croak out.

“I’ve heard the ladies talk about their men. How there are different ways to please. How some of them are jealous of others with better lovers. So I know what I am asking. I want to know that bliss they speak of. Can you do that, without -“ And she waves her hand in the direction of his crotch.

Were he not already torn between sadness and arousal, he would have answered her sooner. But it takes time for it to all click in his mind. For him to realize what she is asking him to do without knowing how it works. But she is looking up at him with wide pleading eyes. Her thighs are shifting again and her cheeks are splotchy with desire. And how could he deny her when she wants this? A little part of him shudders in pride.

“I can,” And before she can say a word, he presses his lips back to her ear and lets his hand return to her face. His finger trails back to her mouth as he whispers into her ear and letting his tongue dart out to lick against her shell.

“I can make your thighs quiver and make you see an afterlife brighter than the one you fell from,” She lets out a moan and he feels her embarrassment, so he presses himself closer.

“Don’t be quiet. Let your mind go. Just feel. I’ll tell you if you need to do anything. Trust me.”

He feels her relax as he continues to whisper in her ear. His finger traces her bottom lip. Then he gently presses down, “Part them. Let my finger in.”

She does as he asks, feels her shift underneath him as he plunges his digit past her lips. “Run your tongue over my finger. Coat it.”

Her lithe little tongue hesitantly flicks at him until emboldened enough to swirl around and then suck at it. Both of their hips buck, and he lets out a growl of pleasure. With a pop he pulls it from her mouth and shifts back onto his side.

“We have to get rid of some of these clothes,” He mutters. She nods, shifting back a little so she can start undoing the laces of her tunic. He thinks about stopping her, about pulling her hands away and tugging at those strings himself. But there is something enchanting about watching her stumble over the closures and strings. Finally, she shimmies out of it, exposing pert little breasts that are as sun-kissed as the rest of her. As if she had been dipped in sunlight.

“Pants, too,” He manages to hiss out, and she shimmies out of those as his hand falls over hers and helps her tug them off. Shoes go flying off into some little bush. And once she is completely divested of clothing, he sits back on his haunches and looks at her. All of his dreams had been right. Taut muscular thighs. Legs that stretched to the heavens. Breasts that are round, pert and tiny enough he could slide her nipple through his fingers while he squeezes them. So fucking beautiful.

She starts shifting under his gaze, still half sitting from divesting her clothes. He doesn’t like that. Wants to see her splayed across the ground, hair all around while his hands traverse her body. He pulls up from his haunches, stretching over her and placing a hand on her chest between her breasts. She shuffles a bit and then lets him press her downward. Somehow they have managed to move enough that they are on the edge of the cliff, the tip of her head hovering over the valley below. Her hair dances in the breeze, hanging over the edge. And if he looks he can see the green of the valley stretching below.

It's a heady feeling, having her laying before him on the precipice of a cliff, and it makes his blood boil with the adrenaline that shoots through his veins. And then her hand is shooting up to gather in his hair.

“You have the most beautiful hair,” She mumbles, letting her fingers entwine with his locks. It elicits a moan from his lips. And that is enough to make him press down on her.

He slides a knee between her legs, forcing her to spread them wide as he jams it up against her sex. Lets his hand that was between her breasts shift the angle of her hips and roll them against the cloth of his knee so she will know what to do. At first she gasps, but quickly gets the hang of rubbing against him. Brutally slow. He smiles, drawing his hand back up to her chest and splaying it across her breast.

“That's right, roll yourself against my knee. Slowly for now.”

She gasps for breath at his words, bending her head back a little. He dips his head, running his lips along her skin until he reaches her mouth. And not wanting to go further without some type of kiss he presses his lips to hers just as she bucks her sex against his knee. Her mouth opens with a moan and he quickly darts in.

She must remember what he told her earlier when his finger was in her mouth because her tongue meets him in a sloppy little dance. It soon has his hips thrusting against the air as his hand massages her breast and tugs gently on her nipple. She groans against his mouth, pressing her breast to his palm as she arches.

He smirks, pulling away after tugging gently on the bottom of her lip. He leaves a trail of kisses in his wake, all the way down to the one abandoned breast. And then he lathes that with his tongue. Sweeping under the breast before coming up to swirl his tongue around her pert nipple. She mewls in delight, pressing her hand further into his hair to keep him there. Her other hand attempts to find purchase on the rock, doesn’t, and grasps at his hip instead.

Her thrusts against his knee are speeding up, and not wanting this to end yet, he pulls his knee away. She lets out a protest, tries to push herself down on the rock after him. But he pins her in place.

“Not yet,” He growls at her and then shifts so he can glide his hand to the juncture of her thighs. He finds that little bundle of nerves that makes a woman sing. She sings the minute he presses and flicks his finger. Her hips pop up off the rock and a high pitched keening passes her lips. With a smile, he continues to press, flick and circle her clit until she is rocking against his hand.

With one more kiss to her breast, he starts kissing his way down her body, leaving a trail of slick saliva. She is already far too gone, head thrown back and hands gripping his hair and hip as she rocks against his hand. That is until he pulls his hand away.

“What are you…”

He parts her thighs and bends his upper torso down so he can sling her legs over his shoulders. Then he nestles his head so it hovers over her sex. He smirks up at her from between her thighs.

Her doe eyes go wide, almost completely black from her arousal. Then she tightens her grip on his hair and brings her other hand up to gather in his curls. Holding her gaze he flicks his tongue against her clit, and she bends in half with a mewl. He laughs, letting the vibration coarse through her engorged sex. Instinctively her thighs tighten around his head and her hands press him against her core.

And gods it is well worth the heat and the lack of oxygen to be between her thighs, to feel her flex and thrust underneath him. To feel her tighten and flutter around his tongue as he alternatives flicking her clit to sliding into her parted lips.

Her movements are getting more jerky and out of control, and even though her thighs are locked around his head becoming harder to keep up the rhythm with her all her writhing. So he splays a hand over her lower abdomen, pressing down so it is harder for her to buck her hips. He runs his thumb back and forth with the pace he has set with his tongue.

Flick, dip, swirl, lick up, flick, dip, swirl. HE repeats the pattern while slowly increasing the pace until she is wailing. He knows the entire valley can hear her echoes bounding through every crevice of the mountain.

And when she clenches her entire upper body lifts off the rock until the waves of her climax are done lapping. Then she goes limp under him, legs parting and falling from his face. He continues to lap up what he can of the last of her climax before gently pulling her legs off his shoulders. He falls back on his knees, taking a moment to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand as he stares down at the mess he has created.

She is completely parted and sated. Drool is dripping down the side of her parted mouth as she pants. Her eyes flicker open to stare up at him, hooded. All the rest of her has melted into the ground, legs completely spread and dripping moisture to the rock below. Breasts still puckered and red from his attention. Mouth red from kisses and bites and tugging to hold back moans. A sight damn better than anything he has witnessed in his life. Her lazy smile draws him to her lips, and one of her hands snakes back into his hair to pull him down over her. Their lips meet, parting, and their tongues lazily slide against each other.

He is hard as steel, straining against his pants. But he can’t bring himself to not continue the lazy kisses of their tongues.

He can handle himself in a moment. For he wants to savor the small conquest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that smut you just read? Why yes it is! Took us a while to get there, right? You guys hung right in there, and I can't tell you thank you enough. So now that they have crossed this line, shouldn't be too long before more lines are crossed. 
> 
> As always, thank you for all your kindness! I hope you really enjoyed the chapter.


	14. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at Snoke's holdfast. Snoke gives Kylo some advice.

 

Winter is pressing against the Northern Reaches. While snow always caps the mountains, it is starting to touch the valleys and fields. They've all slept closer to the fire during the last leg of the trip; wake to find frost lining their sleeping furs. Over the course of a week the winter flowers are blooming and autumn is giving way to the chills of winter. So, when they arrive at Snoke’s village, it is no surprise there is a thin blanket of snow and ice covering the ground.

“You are a day earlier than expected,” The gate attendant says with a welcoming nod of the head. He points to the little boy standing at his side.

“Let the hall know Lord Ren has arrived with his entourage,” and the man’s eyes flit over to Rey for the briefest of seconds.

The boy runs off and before long there are two attendants walking toward them.

Kylo has to keep the snarl from his lips at the sight of the red-haired man. Lead strategist for the Northern Reaches, Armitage doesn’t look like the usual man placed in a high ranking position. He is a tall slender man who's eyes belay the intense madness for blood and war hidden inside.

“Lord Ren, congratulations on your claim over Hvall. I heard it was a brilliant bloody mess.”

“Of course it was. It was inevitable it ended that way.” Kylo responds, his back a little straighter as the two men stare each other down. Of course, now that Kylo has a holdfast, it puts him above Armitage in ranking. He can see how that tugs at his old enemy's face.

“Yes, I seem to remember similar words in the past,” Armitage replies, coming to stand before the small group. Kylo gives one nod to his wife, Phasma, who returns it staunchly.

“Well, it is too cold out here for us to chat. Snoke has already retired for the night, and the hall is growing dim. We will see that your party is set up for the evening with beds and food. Then we can talk more in the morning.”

They follow Armitage and Phasma to a large guest house. The place is outfitted with candles and a fire that makes the room feel toasty against their frozen faces. Furs stretch across the beds that line the walls. In the back is a door leading to the lord's chamber.

“Food will arrive shortly. Sleep well.” Phasma gives them a nod and places a hand on her husband’s shoulder to guide him out of the tent. With their two hosts gone, the group falls a little more into calmness.

“I don’t like that we aren’t breaking bread with them immediately,” Luta whispers. The others can’t help but think the same thing, but they had arrived late in the evening. It is not a slight by any means.

“They are sending food. As long as we are under their roof and eating their food they won’t dare defy the gods.”

“Or alert other lords that they are willing to slit the throat of a visitor after serving them food and offering a place to sleep,” Hrok concedes.

Kylo shrugs off his coat, heading for the lord chambers so he can deposit his belongings.

“They would be fools to bring down the wrath of the gods by disobeying that law. But they would also have to kill two blessed creatures to end us. A Valkyrie and a familiar are not something to ignore.” Maz adds with a smile. That seems to calm everyone, they go about putting up their belongings while waiting on the food.

The bear shimmies into the chamber with him, finding a spot on the floor and making its own. His black eyes stare up at him, and he shakes his head. “I know, Chewie. Rey says the same thing.”

He smells the food before Luta announces its arrival. Shucking his coat and belt and a majority of his clothing - feeling warm as his body defrosts. He tucks a dagger into the back of his pants, makes sure his ax is available should he need it. Not that he thinks Snoke would do anything, but his master's demand to see the Valkyrie and the timing of this meeting has him on edge.

The group is already gathered around the small wooden table at the center of the room, bowls filled with a delicious broth and bread piled high on a tray at the center of the table. Pitchers of ale fill in the rest of the spots on the table.

He slides into the empty spot beside Rey, letting their knee touch and smirking as she reacts a little to the contact. She has forgone her traveling ware. Instead, she is clothed in a simple cotton shift that falls just to her knees. He can see her pert little nipples pressing against the cotton of the fabric. He knows there is not a stitch of anything underneath that dressing gown but miles of soft sun-kissed flesh.

Immediately his mind flicks back to the day before, the one where he had her spread out across the rocks of the cliff. Her head hung off the edge as she ground against his knee and hissed his name. He wonders if he could convince her to sneak into his chamber in the night. To fall between the sheets with him. So he could explore more of that skin and make her cry against his body again. But he knows that would be unwise. The little taste he managed to glean that heady day in the forest was already playing with fire. And though he tells himself he can keep to just touches, to no penetration, he knows he is lying to himself.

They are quiet during dinner, their bodies too tired from travel to do much else but stuff their bellies and then fall to their respective pallets to sleep. Kylo retreats to his room as the others dip into their beds and climbs between the sheets with a little buzz from the ale. It doesn’t take long before sleep is tugging at his eyes, and his body drifts off to a peaceful sleep.

He wakes to something seeming off in his room. Not wrong, or threatening, just different. He shifts, flinging an arm out across the other side of the pallet. Ready to turn over when he realizes his arm doesn’t find fur sheets but something more solid. At first, he thinks it might be Chewie. He gets ready to attempt to push the bear out of bed, hopes he will manage without losing a finger or two. When he realizes the thing in his bed doesn’t have fur. At that, he quickly shifts sides to see what has managed to crawl into his bed in the night. Is it Phasma with a knife ready to slit his throat?

But it isn’t, and his heart beat slows as he watches the soft rise and fall of Rey’s chest. She is curled up in a fetal position, half of one of his furs tucked as close to her body as she can manage. Her little teeth are chattering, and her feet press against his calf. He sighs and shifts a little more, making the pallet dip. She rolls forward into the curve of his torso and lets out a content purr as she nuzzles closer to his warmth.

Without thinking he folds around her, tucking her cold little feet under his legs and tugging the furs off her body. He takes a second to admire the dip of her hips and the tint of her skin that shines through the old cotton fabric of her tunic. Then he pulls her closer, tucking her in so her cheek rests against his chest and they are as flush as he can manage in this position. His chin rests on top of her hair, and he slings an arm over her body. He grabs the largest of furs and covers them both. A warmth both physical and emotional falls over him as he drifts back to sleep.

She isn’t there when he wakes the next morning, but he isn’t surprised. This thing that is blooming between them, that defies all the rules of the gods is not something to be flaunted. It is bad enough that she slid into his bed last night. Even worse that he slid his tongue between her thighs just days before. But it does make him feel better to know he is not alone in this. He is not the only one feeling a crushing lust for a forbidden creature. She is as damned as he is and as willing to fall apparently. That, or unable to fight it.

But today will not be one for thinking about the carnal natures of man and Valkyrie. Today he has to face his old master, see what he wants, discover what he has in store for Rey, and survive it all intact and in shape to help his village through the winter. It doesn’t seem like much to ask when this is his sovereign, a man he has sworn fealty to. Snoke should be the one protecting and providing comfort in exchange for such a bargain. But that is never how politics works. Especially when your sovereign is a mastermind strategist, bloodthirsty master of the berserker skill, and sovereign of the legions of the Northern Reaches. A man with a penchant for mind games, too.

When he thinks about it that way he wonders why he fights Rey so much when she demands he kill the man.

He dresses in his finest travel gear, even sliding the necklace of runes that denotes his village over his tunic. He slings his furs over his shoulder, and after entering the main chamber tosses it across Rey’s bed until it is time for them to leave. Breakfast is being served - dried berries and some porridge that smells a bit like honey. All the others eating, just as they had the night before. But his eyes immediately fall to Rey, who is laughing with Maz.  Somewhere since her arrival, someone has managed to find a beautiful green tunic inlay with gold that stretches over her chest and falls to her knees. It's a shield maiden’s tunic, one made for someone of status. Someone with enough riches to embellish such fine cotton and wool with gold stitching. Maz must have found it.

But it doesn’t stop there. Her hair has been plaited into an intricate series of braids and weaves befitting a legendary warrior. Loops and swirls of braids pull back the hair on one half of her head, while the other side is plaited by one large braid that dips behind her ear and is finished with pale white feathers. Its the first time she has been ceremonial warrior dress. And though she still wears her training leggings and leather boots, he couldn’t imagine her looking more beautiful.

Unless she was naked.

Maz must have worked on her for hours to get this effect. He will have to thank her for thinking about such necessitates as this. After all, they had come here to present the Valkyrie to Snoke. It wouldn’t do if she didn’t look the part.

He slides into the empty spot beside Rey, and she turns her head away from Maz for a second to give him a warm smile.

“You look beautiful,” He tells her immediately, half because he can’t keep it in and half because he knows if he pauses too long he will lose the ability to tell her. Her cheeks color at this admission, even as he leans a little over to meet Maz’s eyes, “You did a marvelous job Maz,” and he sees her eyes dart to Luta so he addresses her as well, “And Luta. Thank you for making us all look more presentable.”

Maz snorts, and Luta laughs, “You would be so lost without us. And to think you were just going to let Rey walk into Snoke’s hall in training gear. Now she looks the proper part. An avenging Valkyrie ready to roast them all.”

“If only you could have found Chewie earlier. Then the ladies would have had the foresight to dress him in gold and feathers.”

Luta hits him hard across the back of the head.

And as Luta is about to retort, they are interrupted by a messenger. It's a young boy, early teens who greet them with solemn eyes. Everyone snaps to attention to look at him, all thoughts of food flying right out of their minds.

“The Supreme Leader Snoke wishes to welcome you all to the Northern Reaches in the hall. If you will please follow me.”

The messenger pauses long enough to let them grab their furs and slide a few weapons into their belts and shoes. When they are ready, he nods and walks them to the center square where the Great Hall of Selaeyrr is nestled.

The holdfast for the sovereign of the Northern Reaches is much larger than most holdfasts. Snoke has managed to claim many of the Vikings lands in his name since his rise to power.  A holdfast normally has one lord for a few townships that all work toward bringing in food and supplies for their people. Snoke has changed most of that with the looming power of the Northern Reach. In these lands, all the Lords bend to his command. Thus, Selaeyrr is much bigger than most. The Great Hall remains the same, though it is littered with the signs of extravagance and wealth of a kingdom drowning in riches. When Kylo first set foot in Selaeyrr as a boy searching for a new home, he had immediately been drawn to the difference between Hvall and Selaeyrr and the way wealth was displayed.

He hears Maz gasp, and even Rey makes a little noise of surprise at the gold columns and intricate knot works that line the entrance.

As expected, there is a line of warriors against the wall behind Snoke, spears pointing toward the heavens and eyes looking into a distance. This is his guard, Kylo realizes, and not the contingency of other warriors. He had almost expected to see a small war band flanking his old master. He isn’t sure if he is relieved or more skeptical of the change of protocol.

“Kylo Ren,” Snoke’s voice booms across the hall, and the mountain of a man steps down from his chair and smiles sweetly at his company. “Word of your victories reached my ears. I must say, I am impressed.”

Once Snoke reaches the party, he stops, looking down on Kylo with an expectant tug to his eyebrow. Kylo doesn’t need any further instruction, nor does his party. He bends the knee, just like he has all those days since leaving Hvall with the promise of bringing his uncle to his knees. Snoke’s smile leaves his lips, however, even as the man puts a trusting hand on Kylo’s shoulder and gives it a friendly squeeze. However, his superior’s eyes are staring past him, to the spot where Rey stands.

“You,” Snoke whispers with an interested reverence, and Kylo feels his heart grow cold. Though Snoke's words come out sweet and kind, there are thorns in his words. “Must be the Valkyrie.”

“Rey.” His Valkyrie girl meets Snoke’s confidence with a tone dripping with disdain. But she doesn’t say much more.

“What a fitting name. And where did the gods dig you up? Not from around here,” His master’s tone has turned contemplative, even as he steps away and pulls his arm back from Kylo.

“I don’t recall,” Rey answers honestly.

“Of course you wouldn’t, dear. Probably for the best. I hear the desert countries make for a difficult life. It would make sense they would spare such a beauty from that harshness. And that they would put you in the path of my most trusted apprentice. What a wonder.”

Snoke saunters back to his throne and slinks back into its embrace. His light brown eyes survey the group and with a flick of his wrist so they know they can stand.

“I must thank you for coming so quickly, Lord Ren.”

Kylo dips his head down, “Of course, my Lord. I come if you summon.”

“There is much I wish to discuss with you. Accepting Hvall into my fold being one of them. We have that ceremony scheduled for this evening. For now, I would like to talk tactics. Plans. I have news from the West. Some of my raiders came back with tales of a city filled with gold. I think together we can take this opportunity and improve our fortunes.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Snoke looks up tot he rest of the group, eyes pausing momentarily on Rey before falling back to Kylo.

“You may leave us. I will keep him for a few hours as we discuss plans for the future. It has been too long since I have had the ear of my apprentice.”

Kylo doesn’t need to turn around to hear Rey’s protest, even as Hrok pleads quietly with her to turn around and leave with them. But Rey, ever the stubborn being she is, seems to be putting her feet down unwilling to let him out of her sights while Snoke is around.

“It will be fine, Rey.” He calls across the room, without turning to look at her. Snoke has too much invested in him to cause him harm, though Rey seems to think otherwise.

“But-“

“Go.” He hisses, tossing a glare over his shoulder. He sees the purse of her lips, the way her back straightens and her eyes flash. She could fight this if she wanted. Pull out those wings of hers and make them all bow to her power. But she doesn’t. Her eyes meet his and then she lets Hrok drag her away.

“Keep Chewie by your side,” She calls once she reaches the door. And then they are all gone and the door to the great hall swings shut. It has been too long since Kylo has been bathed in the darkness of the Northern Reaches. Too long since he was shut away with his master in the hall with no lights. Where he has to squint to see faces through the candlelight. But he quickly adjusts, falling into step beside his old master as they walk toward the back chambers and pull out chairs to plan their strategies.

“She is a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Snoke comments as he slides into a seat across from Kylo. Before them is a map of the world as they know it. Their lands, known well, are all scratched and marked with names and distance. The ones overseas are spottier. Some have names but others are barren. Unexplored. Untouched. Kylo can already see where some of Snoke’s pieces are lining up to raid one of these places. His little wooden ships gathered around an island that surely promises gold.

“She won’t be a distraction. In fact, she will be helpful if you plan to raid the west.”

Snoke doesn’t say a word, just looks over Kylo’s face. Reading him. Searching for something.

“She is already a distraction. You think I can’t tell by the glances she spared you? By the way, she fought to remain by your side?”

“How she feels is irrelevant.” Kylo begins and winces as Snoke’s hand slams down on his own.

“Don’t lie to me boy. As sure as her glances give her away, your determination not to look at her gives you away.”

Kylo blanches, feels his cheeks heat at being caught. Feels anger well in his veins.

“You play a dangerous game courting a Valkyrie. Surely you know how this will end if you keep down this path?”

Kylo tries to pull his hand away, to look away from his master. But Snoke’s grip is harsh and unrelenting. The man squeezes until Kylo is forced to look up at him.

“She wants me dead. Odin has willed it. She has told you as much,” Snoke hisses at him, and then lets go of his hand.

“But you didn’t agree with her. You refused to turn against me. Otherwise, you would not be here.”

“I have given you everything, master. Why would I betray you?”

Snoke settles back into his seat, a contemplative look falling over his face.

“She will keep you from becoming great, from fulfilling the destiny set forth by your grandfather. But still, you want her. The gods will tell you to choose. But what if I gave you another option?”

Kylo stares up at his master, mouth straight and jaw clenched. Could he be offering what he thinks?

“She can’t stay as she is. She is too much of a threat as a Valkyrie. But all things can return to their true state if you know how to break the spell.”

“Turn her human? You know how to do that?”

A wicked smile pulls against Snoke’s lips, even as he leans forward and places a finger against Kylo’s temple.

“My dear boy, have I ever led you astray?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so kind! Thank you for all your sweet comments, kudos, and shows of support! I means the world to me! <3
> 
> So they have arrived and Snoke has plans for them - and some advice. The moments we have been waiting for are almost here. How do you think it will all unfold?
> 
> I love hearing from you guys, so please feel free to drop me a note! And thank you so much for reading!
> 
> And if you are waiting on the next update and need something to read, let me shamelessly plug my other ongoing fic [Heartstring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899856/chapters/34509683). If you enjoy angel/demons themes and a/b/o dynamics it might be up your alley. Its all about a demon!ben that meets angel!rey while she is trying to make a demon deal to learn about her parents - and romance ensues. Its got a much faster pace than this fic, but some of the same fantasy aspects (if you are like me and love fantasy elements).


End file.
